


City of Heavenly Fire: The Officially Unofficial Fan Fiction

by WriterBelle747



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-19 16:32:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 133,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1476493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterBelle747/pseuds/WriterBelle747
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jace, Clary and the rest of the team are home after the battle against Sebastian and his Dark Shadowhunters. Jace has become very protective of Clary, so when Sebastian takes her, Jace will stop at nothing to get her back. Battles are fought and relationships are forged, tested, and destroyed in this shocking (Fan Fiction) conclusion to Cassandra Clare's The Mortal Instruments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for any changes that will be happening in the next hour. I'm just getting used to this website. Anyway, hope you enjoy everyone! :)

_Black for hunting through the night_

_For death and mourning the color’s white_

_Gold for a bride in her wedding gown_

_And red to call enchantment down._

_White silk when our bodies burn,_

_Blue banners when the lost return._

_Flame for the birth of a Nephilim,_

_And to wash away our sins._

_Gray for knowledge best untold,_

_Bone for those who don’t grow old._

_Saffron lights the victory march,_

_Green will mend our broken hearts._

_Silver for the demon towers,_

_And bronze to summon wicked powers._

**_— Shadowhunter children’s rhyme_ **


	2. Prologue: Ave Atque Vale

Clary raised her blood-stained hand to cup Jace's unmoving face. The battle that raged behind her slowly faded into background noise as her mind began to finally process what had happened. The blade. . . Jace's stunned expression. . . Clary yelling his name as he crumpled to the ground. She had run to him, but everything had seemed like it was moving in slow motion, like a nightmare.

Finally, though, she had reached him. Jace's hand was over the wound, the blade sticking grotesquely out of it. He had turned his face toward hers, his eyes heavy and half-lidded. She'd put one hand over his in a frantic attempt to stop the river of blood flowing from the wound, and pulled the seraph blade out sharply with her other hand, causing Jace to groan in pain.

"Jace?" she'd whispered, the tears she'd held back making her voice hoarse. "Jace, no. Come on, you can't. . . You can't leave me. . . You're going to be alright—"

"Clary," Jace had said softly. He had taken one of her hands in his. "'I love you and I will love you until I die, and if there is a life after that, I'll love you then.' Remember when I said that to you?"

Unable to speak, Clary had just nodded.

"I meant it. I have never stopped loving you. 'If there's a life after that,' well. . . I guess I'm about to find out." He'd laughed weakly, but was soon arrested by a fit of coughing. He had drawn his hand out of hers and put it over his mouth. When he brought it back down, it had come away red. The tears had fallen past her eyelids freely now.

"No," Clary had sobbed. "Jace, I can't lose you again. Please. You can't. . . I mean, you've survived everything else. You survived Valentine and Jonathan and Lilith and Angels and Demons. You've survived everything up until now. Hell, Jace, you've been stabbed before. _Twice._ And one of those times was with an Angel sword that caught _fire_.” She laughed softly through her tears. "You have survived everything, Jace. We haven't come this far for you to die now. Not here, not like this."

"I love you, Clary. And I'm sorry." A single tear fell down Jace's face as he brought up a hand to brush away the tears that were streaming down hers. She thought of what he had told her one time, in the first few weeks they had known each other, when he had depicted for her the story of a boy and his hunting falcon. _The boy never cried again, and he never forgot what he learned: that. . ._

"To love is to destroy," Clary said, sadly.

"And to be loved," Jace finished almost inaudibly, "is to be the one destroyed." The edges of his mouth curved slightly into a weak smile.

And then, Jace's face went slack, his eyes finally slipping closed, and Clary realized with a sudden sinking in her heart that she would never see their golden beauty again. Her before-silent tears transformed into sobs that racked through her entire body as she bent over Jace's lifeless form and grieved; grieved for everyone she had lost in the past few hours, the past few days, and the past few months.

Eventually, though she still shook, her eyes had grown dry with no more tears to shed. She took a deep breath as she sat up sluggishly, running her fingers slowly and gently through Jace's hair. A voice carried over the sounds of the battle behind her—a voice that made rage surge through her veins like adrenaline.

"Ave atque vale, Shadowhunter," said Meliorn. "Or at least, to the poor excuse of one that was Jace Lightwood." Clary put her hand on Jace's cheek one last time, and then began to rise from her knees. Suddenly, and almost completely against her own volition, Clary reached for the angel blade that had just ended Jace's life, as well as a part of her own. She thought maybe she had been fast enough—but Meliorn was even faster than Jace had been.

The Faerie Knight's foot snapped down on the blade, holding it firmly in place. With his other foot, he kicked out at Clary, sending her flying back onto Jace's limp body. Clary saw stars for a moment, but recovered quickly, rolling swiftly over to her hands and knees. However, she was already too late, as Meliorn had kicked away the seraph blade, pulling out a blade of his own, now holding the tip level with her neck. Clary stilled instantly to prevent any accidental injury.

"You stupid Nephilim. You have always thought you were better than us, but have you ever stopped to think who the most powerful of the few of us is? You are a Shadowhunter. And not even a good one at that. I am one of the most powerful Faerie Knights of the Seelie Court. I have been around for many years. I know a thing or two, little girl." Clary flinched at the name, a bitter reminder of the first time she had met Jace. . . At this gesture of weakness, Meliorn smiled crookedly, with sharp white teeth like a shark's shining through. He inclined his head toward Jace. "The Queen will be displeased. This one was one of her favorite toys. I wonder how she shall entertain herself now." Meliorn pushed the sword forward ever so slightly so that it was pressed against Clary's throat. "If your Jace had just stayed out of our way, this would never have happened." The sword kissed Clary's neck, causing a pinching sensation and a single drop of blood to form, rolling down her neck and pooling in the crook of her shoulder."So, what about you, Valentine's daughter? Will you join us, and help bring an end to the way the Nephilim have unjustly ruled, or will you choose the losing side like your precious Jace?"

Clary looked out of her peripheral vision—still afraid to turn her head for fear of risking decapitation—at Jace. _Her_ Jace. She thought he could have been sleeping as peaceful as he looked. But, in her heart, she knew the truth.

She looked fiercely back at Meliorn. "I will never join with your side," she snarled at him. "So do what you want. Jace died for what he believed in." Her voice cracked on the word "died"; she still wanted to believe it had never happened, that this was all just a bad dream. She cleared her throat and began again. "I won't ever betray him."

"Suit yourself," Meliorn said lazily. He raised the sword and, after a moment's hesitation, brought the blade down—


	3. Part One: Love and Truth

**Part One**

_Love and Truth_  
"I hope that real love and truth are stronger in the end than any evil or misfortune in the world."

—Charles Dickens, _David Copperfield_


	4. Chapter 1: No More Secrets

**_A week earlier. . ._ **

"No," Jace said plainly as he went over to grab the knife stuck in the wooden target on the wall of the Institute's training room. His face was calm, but his words held thinly-veiled contempt.

"Jace—" Clary began.

"No. This is not up for discussion." Jace thrust the knife toward Clary hilt-first. "Now try it again."

Clary sighed, but took the knife up anyway, squaring her shoulders and preparing to throw it again. Quickly, she snuck a glance over at Jace, who had leaned himself up against a wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched her.

He _always_ seemed to be watching her. Ever since Jace had healed from the battle in the Burren, he had watched her, never letting her out of his sight. She wouldn't have cared, particularly, had he not taken this "guardian" position of his beyond the point of insanity. Instead of staying with her mother and Luke at Luke's row house near the East River, Jace had insisted to Jocelyn that Clary move into her own room at the Institute, a protected place where he didn't have to be that far away from her at any given moment. Jace and Jocelyn had argued fiercely over the issue, both asserting their ability to take care of Clary—a fact that annoyed Clary immensely. As if she didn't know how to protect herself. Ultimately, after a conversation with Maryse and Robert Lightwood, Jocelyn had finally conceded, but only on the condition that Maryse, Robert and Jace would swear on the Angel that nothing would happen to Clary there.

Jace hadn't wasted any time in continuing Clary's Shadowhunter training. Though Clary was happy that she was getting to spend more time with Jace, she was very irked that this time was usually spent with him trying to teach her how to decapitate an opponent easily or how to land on her feet without breaking a single bone when she fell from four stories up. She was even more irked on days like this, when it was beautiful outside, and she wanted to go for a walk alone or wanted to go to the park to draw the gorgeous new-fallen snow on the ground near the duck pond with soft watercolors. Jace, however, had made it very clear that such activities were not to be tolerated under his military-like watchful eye.

"You're joking, right?" he'd asked. "There's no way I'm letting you go off by yourself without protection." When Clary had insisted, Jace, instead of being a grown up and talking about it, had decided that they should spend the day holed up in the training room in heavy gear, practicing all kinds of battle tactics. That had been three hours ago. Now, Clary was growing agitated; she had hit the center of the target each of the past six times she'd thrown the knife, and yet Jace was always finding at least one more thing she could improve on. This time, that one thing happened to be her focus.

"You know," Jace grumbled, "if you'd stop talking about these ridiculous fantasies of yours and actually focused on the sharp, deadly knife you were throwing, we could be done with all of this in no time."

"That's it," Clary hissed, and she turned to Jace, throwing the knife without looking. The dagger flew through the air, landing dead center in the painted bull's eye. "Jace, why? Why are you so opposed to me leaving the Institute for even just a second?"

"You are entirely welcome to leave the Institute any time you'd like." He gracefully straightened up, waving a hand toward her. "Let's take a break from the knife for a while. How about something that actually requires your _entire_ focus? Get in your fighting stance."

Clary, though crossly, did as she was told.

"Now, come at me. We aren't ending this lesson unless and until you can take me down in hand to hand combat." Jace brought his fisted hands up to block his face and bounced on the balls of his feet, awaiting the first attack.

"I meant," Clary said, circling her opponent, waiting for her moment to strike, "without a chaperone. Or a bodyguard or whatever the Hell else you want to call yourself."

Clary started forward, punching out with her right arm. Jace ducked out of the way of it without even blinking. Clary, losing her balance, fell forward onto her hands and knees painfully. She glared back up at Jace. He smirked arrogantly, which only made her want to take him down that much more. "Like I said," Jace gloated, "stop talking and focus on what you're doing."

Clary jumped to her feet in one swift move, though she almost lost her balance again—she still hadn't acquired the magical Shadowhunter grace that every other member of the Clave seemed to possess. "You haven't let me out of your sight in almost a month now," she grumbled, rushing him again, this time knocking him off his feet. Her legs straddled his hips, her feet holding his arms down by his side and her forearm on his neck, holding his head firmly in place as she spoke. It was a move Jace himself had taught her and one that was very advantageous to those who were "vertically challenged," as Jace had put it. "And it's driving me crazy!" Clary continued. Jace struggled under her, but her grip was unbreakable. She shrugged philosophically as she continued speaking. "I need just a little space. To think, to move. To do anything, really, without you breathing down my neck."

"Well I don't think that's quite fair," said Jace breathlessly. "I don't _just_ breathe down your _neck_. I'd say I breathe more down your arms and your face and your—"

"Not helping," she said irritably. Jace struggled once more to free himself of his girlfriend's grasp, but found the gesture futile.

"When did you get so strong?" he huffed.

"When you and my crazy brother decided to try to make me drink from the Infernal Cup, I decided I'd spent way too much time ignoring my instincts and my training. You really are a great teacher, you know," she added, smiling down at him.

Jace wriggled once again under her. "Okay, fine, you've made your point. You win. Can you please get off of me now?"

Clary cocked her head sideways, studying him. "I don't know. I like the view from here."

"Clary, I'm warning you—"

" _You're_ warning _me_? Last time I checked, I'm the one who's winning right now, Jace."

"Oh, really?"

His mouth quirked up in an evil grin, and, before Clary could react, she felt a searing heat on the arm that she held up against Jace's throat. She cried out in pain, standing up quickly and backing away, her uninjured arm caressing the other. Jace, moving in his remarkably-fast-even-for-a-Shadowhunter way, seized the opportunity. He jumped up, staying low in a crouch, and then he pushed off the ground and swung his feet around, knocking into Clary's legs and making her fall forward. As she fell, Jace put out a hand to keep her from hitting the ground too hard, and before Clary realized what had happened, she was lying on her back on the floor of the training room, with Jace looming over her, his right hand pinning down both of hers above her head. She didn't even bother struggling—she knew Jace was stronger than even the most experienced Shadowhunters.

"That doesn't count. You didn't fight fair," Clary complained. "You cheated."

Jace brought up his left hand to gently move a stray scarlet strand of her hair out of her face. "I did. And so will Sebastian." Jace planted a light kiss on Clary's cheek and let go of her arms and she shoved him off of her, suddenly furious.

"So _that's_ what you're afraid of?" she asked incredulously, standing up and brushing off her clothes from the dusty floor. "You're afraid Sebastian is coming back for me?"

"Do I really have to answer that question?"

"Sebastian is gone, Jace," Clary said patiently. "He's not coming back for me. We haven't seen him since the battle. He's not going to risk getting caught trying to come after me."

"Clary, he is obsessed with you. He may have lost the battle and the dark Nephilim he made, but he still has the Infernal Cup. And even that's not enough for him. He won't stop until he has you, and I won't let that happen." Jace turned, striding over to the target and examining the knife sticking out of it. "Not a bad shot."

Clary ignored him. "You can't keep me a prisoner here forever, Jace."

Jace turned back to her, the corners of his mouth quirked up into a devilish grin. "That sounds like a challenge."

"Not a challenge, Jace. A threat. You have to let me out of your sight sometime."

Jace sauntered back over to her, the knife in his hand. He threw an arm around Clary's shoulders, and she could feel the heat of the heavenly fire inside of Jace that still emanated from him when he was angry or got his heart rate up. "I agree. And I will," he said, slipping the knife into its sheath on Clary's weapons belt. "As soon as your brother is either imprisoned in the Silent City or dead." Clary rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help cracking a smile. Jace planted a light kiss on her forehead, careful not to burn her, and released her. "Now come on. Let's go for a walk in the park."

"Actually, I was thinking of the greenhouse. I haven't been up there in a while. Since my birthday."

Jace laughed softly. "Well," he said dramatically, though good-naturedly, "a trip to the wonderful New York Institute Greenhouse may be possible if it is what you want." He picked up one of Clary's hands, caressing it in his own.

Clary squeezed his hand, smiling at him endearingly. "Let's go then."

 

Alec stopped pacing and walked up to the door again. He hadn't intended on coming here. He'd been wandering the streets on patrol, thinking that maybe he could bury himself in killing demons enough so that he would be able to forget what had happened with Magnus and move on. Somehow, though, he had ended up not in a demon nest or a rundown building housing rogue vampires, but in front of the brick warehouse in Brooklyn. He always ended up here. The first time it had happened had been only two days after Magnus had left him, and he had decided that he would try to talk to him. He had buzzed up to the apartment with no answer. Alec had pounded on the door for what seemed like hours, screaming Magnus's name, until he was sure he had fractured his hand and lost his voice. Now, a month later, he still hadn't talked to the warlock, and the pain was still eating away at him slowly. He'd gotten thinner, barely even eating anymore, and he could tell that Isabelle was worried about him, that everyone was worried, even Simon. "Dude," Simon had said just a few days before, "you look like death. And trust me, I know what death looks like, considering I technically _am_ dead."

Alec often found himself staring at his phone, waiting for a new text message, or a reply to one of his old ones, or anything to suggest Magnus didn't hate him entirely. But nothing had ever come.

Alec placed his finger over the buzzer to Magnus's apartment again, having already talked himself out of it about a hundred times. This time though, his jaw set with resolve, he pushed the button and waited. When that familiar voice came through the speaker, Alec was shocked.

"Yes?" asked Magnus.

"Magnus?" Alec started hopefully but cautiously. "It's me, Alec. Can. . . Can we—"

"Alexander!" Magnus exclaimed, his syllables slightly slurred. Alec wondered silently if he was drunk. "Yes, please, do come in!"

Alec, rather confusedly, opened the front door of the building and climbed the familiar stairs to Magnus's apartment. Hesitantly, Alec knocked on the door. At first, nothing happened. Alec thought maybe Magnus had been playing a cruel joke on him. Then, after a loud crash that sounded like a lamp falling over, the door opened to reveal Magnus, shirtless and his breath stinking of alcohol. _By the Angel_ , Alec thought. _What happened to him?_

"Alec, how wonderful to see you again," the High Warlock of Brooklyn greeted him with a crooked smile. He leaned heavily on the doorframe, barely able to support his own weight, indicating to Alec just how much he must have been drinking. "We were actually just talking about you, you know?" He gestured for Alec to come into the apartment. Alec moved slowly around Magnus and into the front hallway—the apartment today was a Victorian style mansion—and paused to look back at him.

"We?" Alec asked.

"Please, do ignore him," said a soft voice behind him. Alec turned to see a slim young woman, who looked like she couldn't have been more than his age, who had just poked her head out of the living room. She had a tumble of long, light brown hair down her back and was dressed stylishly in a scarf, pink blouse, and designer jeans. "He is quite irritating when he drinks," she continued, walking toward him.

Alec heard Magnus close the door behind him. "That is not at all true. I become a sort of Faerie when I am drunk. I'm all about the truth."

The girl smiled and shook her head at him, then returned her gaze to Alec. "So, you're Alexander Lightwood? I've heard great things about you."

Alec eyed her suspiciously. "Yes, I am Alexander Lightwood. Who might you be?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, of course. I forgot to introduce myself." She held out a small hand. "My name is Theresa Grey, but you can call me Tessa." Magnus stumbled past the two of them on his way to the living room. He stopped to put an arm around Tessa's shoulder.

"She is my best friend. And she has managed to be that for over a hundred years without trying to change me. Or trying to kill me." He had spoken the last few words pointedly at Alec.

Tessa moved out from under Magnus's grasp and he nearly fell over. She grabbed his arm to steady him, and hit him over the head softly with her other hand.

"Ouch!" Magnus said indignantly.

"Magnus, go lie down and sleep this off before you say something even more idiotic than what you just did."

Magnus childishly stuck a tongue out at her, but he did as he was told, and trudged off toward his bedroom. Alec cringed as the door slammed. Tessa had watched as Magnus left, but now she stared at Alec, studying him.

"It is remarkable how many generations can pass and still carry on a family trait."

"What do you mean? You know my family?"

"I've known your family for over a hundred years. Though, the trait I refer to is, in fact, not originally from the Lightwood bloodline."

Alec just looked at her, confused. Finally, she took pity on him and continued.

"I only meant that you remind me of my husband, but he wasn't a Lightwood," she said sadly.

"Your husband?"

"Yes." Tessa laughed lightly. "But, I'm sure Magnus has already told you of the grand tales of the Shadowhunters of the London Institute. Of him and I, and Jem. And, of course, he must have mentioned Will."

_Will,_ Alec thought in astonishment. _She knows who Will is._ "Actually," he said aloud, "Magnus isn't really all that open about his past. Though I have heard of Will. I don't know much about him. What can you tell me?"

Tessa looked over her shoulder at Magnus's closed door quickly, then turned back to Alec. "Come. Take a walk with me, Alexander. I'll tell you anything you want to know."

 

When the door to the greenhouse opened, Jace was immediately hit with the sweet aroma of the flowers and herbs that grew there. When he'd first come to the Institute when he was ten, he'd loved coming up to the greenhouse, because of the smells of the flowers that normally only grew in Idris—they'd reminded him home, of a time when he was happy. Now that he realized that the entire time he had spent with his "father" was a lie and so was his entire life in Idris, he'd wanted to avoid the greenhouse for the same reason he'd always wanted to be there—because it reminded him of home.

He held Clary's hand as she led him through the thick vines and vegetation growing everywhere. Eventually, she reached a bench. Upon seeing it, Jace was reminded of the last time the two of them had been there, and he smiled.

Clary looked up at him and, seeing his grin, squinted her eyes at him. "What are you smiling about?"

"You were wrong. About the last time we were here? It wasn't on your birthday. We came here one more time after that."

Clary's gaze turned inward, as she struggled to remember. Then, apprehension blanketed her face and she nodded. "The day I first asked you to visit my mom in the hospital. It was the first time we'd seen each other since everything that happened with the Mortal Cup and Valentine."

"We still thought we were brother and sister."

Clary laughed at the memory and sat down on the bench, pulling Jace down with her. "Yeah, I remember. Those were the worst few weeks of my life, you know."

"Mine too. It's weird though. I still had feelings for you. I still loved you. I couldn't shake the feeling that I needed to be with you. The day I found out that I wasn't your brother and that I could love you without feeling so helpless and wrong, that was the best day of my life."

"Aw. That's really sweet." Clary said, surprised.

"Well, it's partly because of all that," Jace said, remembering a few months ago when they had all traveled to Idris, about everything that had happened there. "It's also partly because it was the day I killed your real brother. I just wish he'd honored the code of once-your-dead-you-stay-dead."

Clary laughed softly, putting her head on Jace's shoulder. "You're one to talk."

"Hey," Jace said, throwing his hands up defensively, "that one's one you. You're the one who asked the Angel to bring me back and you're the one who stabbed me the second time anyway."

"I know. And I don't think I'd change anything about any of that."

"Not even the part where you stabbed me?" Jace's voice shot up in worry.

"Well. . . Okay, _maybe_ that part."

They were quiet for a while. The sky overhead was fading into a beautiful late autumn sunset. "I just want to go back to that moment," Clary said absentmindedly.

Jace looked down at her. "What do you mean?"

"My birthday," she replied wistfully. "Everything that night just seemed so perfect."

"It did, didn't it? Until the mundane decided to pop in and ruin everything."

Clary elbowed him softly. "I barely even remember what my life was like before all this. Simon and I were normal people, and my mom was just my mom; we were all just human, and we were safe and happy. Just think of everything that's happened since that night in Pandemonium. Our lives are screwed up beyond belief. I don't even know how we've survived it all."

Jace took Clary's chin between his thumb and index finger and gently brought her face up to look at him. "We've survived because we have each other. Us, Alec, Isabelle, Magnus, and even, Angel forbid, the Daylighter, we all rely on each other. _That_ is how we've made it this far. And it's why we're going to make it to the light at the end of this tunnel."

He pulled her close and kissed her gently. As Jace began to pull away, though, Clary reached her hands into his hair, tangling her fingers in his curls, pulling him even closer to deepen the kiss. He could feel the heat rushing to his lips, as if he'd put his mouth directly into a fire. Jace knew that they had to stop, knew that if they didn't, he would hurt her. But he couldn't find the strength to do it just yet. He _wanted_ Clary. He would always want her. The fire was not only in his lips now, but in his hands as well, as he finally found the strength to push her away. He pushed gently on her shoulders, but she wouldn't budge, and the fire increased and increased until—

"Ah!" Clary cried out, sitting back and putting her hand to her shoulder, where a blotchy red mark in the shape of a handprint was beginning to form.

Jace looked at her horrified. "Clary. . . Clary I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I told you, though. I've told you." His voice pleaded with her to understand, though she did not seem angry. "We can't. Not yet, not until I figure how to get rid of whatever the Hell this is inside of me."

Clary sighed. "Brother Zachariah still hasn't found anything?"

"No. He's looking though. You'd think I was his son or something."

Clary nodded tiredly. "You know, when you were healing after the battle, he was always here, at the Institute, watching over you. He was here when you were missing, even after the search had been deprioritized by the Clave. It's like he cares about you. He's different. He seems the most. . .human of all of the Brothers, but it's more than that. It's like he think he's some kind of guardian to you or something, obsessed with your well-being. He seems especially determined to ensure the Herondale bloodline doesn't disappear."

Jace had known Brother Zachariah had been there in the days after the battle, but he hadn't thought about it much. "I wonder. . .," he began, then shook his head, dismissing the idea. "Never mind."

"What?"

"It's nothing." Jace put his hands gently on Clary's shoulder. "Forget about it."

"Jace," Clary pleaded. "Come on. No more secrets, remember? You promised me no more secrets. Please," She gazed into his golden eyes, seemingly searching for something she'd lost a long time ago, her eyes dark and longing. "Tell me what you're thinking."

He bit his lip, and then said, "I was just wondering what his story is. I mean, he _is_ different than the others. I don't know how, just. . . _different_. I mean, why does he care so much about me?"

It was clear that, though Clary had obviously wondered the same thing before now, she was no closer to an answer than he was. A silence fell momentarily between them. Finally, the corners of Jace's mouth quirked up in a grin, and he took Clary's hand. "Come with me. I want to show you something." He held her hand for a moment, studying her reaction to make sure he wasn't hurting her, and then led her through the garden toward the place where they'd had their first kiss, near the midnight flowers.

Only the midnight flowers were gone. The plant bed that they had once sat in was in ruin, destroyed, with its soil tossed around, half of it outside the short walls that surrounded the enclosure. The flowers themselves were dead, and the twigs that remained were like ghosts of the once beautiful blooms that normally only grew in Idris.

"What happened?" Clary whispered, in a horrified shock.

Jace cleared his throat, heat rising to his cheeks, though he knew that it was mainly from embarrassment, and not the fire that burned in his blood. "The night Valentine told us we were brother and sister, I went blind with rage. I couldn't think straight. Normally, before then, I'd come up here to clear my head, but when I got here, all I could see was that first kiss, that night, these flowers. And. . . I guess I just lost it. I pulled up the flowers, tore them to pieces. I felt like if I could destroy them entirely, maybe I could do the same to my feelings for you. I don't know," he added bashfully. "It seems stupid now. I was acting like a little kid, I guess."

Clary reached her hand up to turn his head to hers. "No. You were acting like a teenager, which, despite everything the universe seems to think, is what you are."

The sun had slipped down past the horizon and the greenhouse had become shrouded in darkness. Clary reached into her pocket and brought out a small object with rounded edges. Between her fingers, the bright glow that could only come from witchlight shone. Upon seeing it, Jace laughed softly.

Clary looked up at him suspiciously. "What?" she asked.

"I gave that to you. Right here. It was the first thing I ever gave you."

Clary smiled. "No, I think the first thing you gave me was a headache."

"Fine. It was the first thing I _intentionally_ gave you."

"I don't know, those headaches seemed pretty deliberate to me."

Jace smiled. "I don't know why you need that thing. All you have to do is kiss me again, and I'll turn into your own personal witchlight Shadowhunter."

"Well, as much as I love watching you glow, I like this witchlight better. It was my birthday present from you. It reminds me of how, right when my life spiraled out of control, you were there, helping me, giving me light."

Jace laughed again, though more heartily this time. "You sound like a corny seventy-year-old poet, Fray."

"Maybe," Clary admitted. "But it's true. You've always been my light in the darkness. It just so happens that, now, with you, it is freakishly literal."

Jace sat down on the ground, pulling Clary onto his lap, where she snuggled into his chest.

"You know," Clary continued, "I just realized something."

"Really? And what is that? Did you finally realize that I really _am_ the most charming man in the universe and I get my medal and my prize now?"

Clary just shook her head. "You really are. . . peculiar. But I'd never change that. It's part of what makes you _my_ Jace."

"Alright, then. Is that what you have come to realize? That you love me because I'm weird?"

"I _realized_ ," Clary said pointedly, "that, as long as we have known each other, I still don't know when your birthday is."

Jace went still and silent for a moment, wondering how to explain the truth to her. When he didn't respond for another few minutes, Clary picked her head up off of his chest to look at him.

"What?" she asked nervously. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, it's—" He was cut off by Clary's glare. _Oh, yeah_ , he thought. _No more secrets. Why did I ever agree to that?_ "Well, when I say it's nothing, I meant that I wasn't going to make a big deal out of it. I really don't like celebrating my birthday anymore."

"What? Why not?" Clary complained, disappointedly.

"Well, it was kind of something I celebrated with my father—Valentine, I mean. You remember when I told you how my birthday was with him?"

She tried to hide a smile. "I think I remember something about a five-year-old you in a bath full of spaghetti."

Jace chuckled. "Yeah. My birthday was the one day each year that my father let me do whatever I wanted. He treated me like I was a prince to his kingship. And after I lost him, I didn't ever want to celebrate without him again. My first birthday here, Maryse and the others all tried to throw me this surprise party. When I found out, I hid in my bedroom for hours. When Maryse finally found me under the bed, I told her that I just couldn't handle celebrating, because it reminded me too much of _him_. She understood, I guess, but she and Isabelle always try to get me to enjoy something for my birthday every year anyway. That's why Alec always takes me hunting. It took me a few years before I realized exactly what he was doing, trying to get me out of the Institute, away from the others. He never really pitied me after what happened, and he didn't ever let me feel sorry for myself. I mean, I used to come up here to the greenhouse for weeks when I first came to the Institute, because most of the plants and flowers here only grow in Idris and they reminded me of home. It was Alec who finally figured out where I kept disappearing to and told me to, as I recall, 'stop moping because we had training to do and demons to hunt.' I punched him and broke his nose. He punched me back and cracked my ribs. A few weeks later, we became parabatai." Jace smiled fondly at the memory.

Clary looked at him with wide eyes. "You never told me that."

"I've never really told anyone. It was one of the darkest times in my life and I never want to go back there again, even for the good memories."

"But you don't have to," Clary said softly. "Jace, now that you know about Valentine and everything he did to you, to us, you can't really miss all of that right? You can't miss _him_."

"No," Jace said, shaking his head definitively, as if what she were crazy for ever thinking anything different. "Of course not."

"Then it's settled," Clary said, a maniacal grin spreading across her face.

"What's settled?" Jace responded suspiciously.

"For your next birthday, you are going to let me and Isabelle and Maryse and everyone else throw you a party. And Alec is not allowed to take you hunting. And you are going to let us give you presents and cake and you are going to love it."

"And if I don't love it?" Jace challenged.

"Then you will pretend you do for your family's sake."

Jace laughed. "You drive a hard bargain, Fray, but I think I will accept your offer."

Clary's grin seemed to reach her ears. "Good. But, just a quick question first. When _is_ your birthday?"

Jace looked away from Clary and ran his fingers through his long golden hair. "Well. . ."

Clary tried to catch his gaze, but he kept his eyes on the twigs that had once been the midnight flowers. "Jace? What? What's wrong?"

Jace finally turned back, his mouth in a half smile. "My birthday is on the 25th."

Clary looked surprised. "Your birthday is on Christmas Day? That's only, like, a week from now! Jace, you should have told me!"

"I didn't want you to make a big deal of it. Which, by the way, is exactly what you're doing."

"Well, I still have to go out and get you something," Clary said frantically, "and I have to let Isabelle and the others know-"

"Would you relax? You don't have to do it all this year."

"Yes, I do," she insisted firmly. "It's your first birthday since we've known each other, since you've found out about your father. . . Jace, I _want_ to do this for you. Please."

Jace let out a sigh. Clary's eyes were as big as a puppy's and, though he couldn't say what made him do it, he pulled her into his arms and embraced her. His lips touched her hair lightly as he whispered into her ear, "Fine. What can I do to help?"

Clary pushed him away, though only as far as she had to in order to look into his eyes. She was smiling mischievously. "Well, there is one thing. . ." she said cautiously.

"Clary, no," Jace said quickly in a preemptive strike, pushing her to an arm's length away. "No. You are not going out by yourself. I know that's what you're going to ask but—"

"How do you expect me to do anything with you always there? It's supposed to be a _surprise._ You definitely can't be there when I buy your gift."

Jace took Clary's shoulders firmly. "Clary, I am not going to let you get yourself killed because just because you want to throw me a stupid birthday party. No. The answer is no."

Clary looked at him defiantly. She shook his hands off of her shoulders. "Jace you are being ridiculous about this."

Jace threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. "Maybe I am!" he shouted, making Clary jump at the sudden outburst. "But if that's what it takes to keep you safe, then that's what I will do. It is what I will always do. I will never let anything bad happen to you, and I will do anything to make sure of it."

Jace spun around, vaguely aware of the heat burning inside him, the sharp glow of his skin lighting the walls as he strode away from Clary and threw himself down the greenhouse stairs, half-walking, half-running to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

 

Simon rubbed his eyes as he rose from his bed, careful not to wake the beautiful girl sleeping beside him. Then again, to call Isabelle Lightwood just a beautiful _girl_ would be to call a dinosaur a lizard. But he couldn't help it—her laying there in his bed, sleeping soundly, with her dark hair spread out on his pillow like a sleeping princess and the two red dots on her neck standing out starkly against her pale skin, it all just made her seem so young and innocent. Not at all like the badass demon slayer she was when she as awake.

Simon gently grabbed a shirt out of the pile of dirty clothes in the corner of his room. As quietly as he had moved, though, Isabelle still stirred in the bed.

"Mmm. . ." she murmured as her eyes slowly fluttered open. She smiled sleepily. "Hey."

Simon's throat was hoarse as he spoke. "Hey." He cleared his throat, though it did little good. "How are you?" he asked, gesturing to the rusty red-brown marks on Isabelle's neck.

Isabelle blankly put her hand up to her neck, wincing as her fingers came in contact with the two deep puncture wounds that Simon's fangs had made the night before. Finally, she looked up at a now very anxious Simon. "I'm fine," she said, though he still didn't feel reassured. "Really, I am. It's nothing, Simon." Izzy stood up unsteadily from the bed, wobbling a little on her legs before righting herself. She walked over to her clothes and weapons belt, still lying on the floor where she'd left them. Simon thought back to the previous night, when he had answered the door, groggy from being woken up so late, to a visibly upset Isabelle. Upon seeing him, Isabelle had thrown her arms around Simon's neck.

"Iz?" he'd asked, startled. "What's wrong?"

She had pulled back enough to see his face. "The nightmares are back again. I can't get away from them. I'll wake up screaming from a dream of Sebastian and Max, and then I'll fall back asleep, only to see burning angels, and Clary and Jace getting killed by someone—I can't see who—and then you. . . I don't even want to talk about what happened to you. I can't handle it anymore. I hate it, but it's true." The girl in Simon's arms hid her face. "So, I thought. . . I don't know why, but immediately, when I was trying to figure out who to talk to, my thoughts jumped to you. And then I guess I just found myself throwing on my clothes and coming over, more on auto-pilot than consciously." Isabelle looked up at Simon and put a hand on his cheek. "I'm sorry. I know I should have called-" Simon shook his head almost imperceptibly, and he reached up to take Isabelle's hand, pulling her close enough so that he could kiss her.

A few minutes later, Simon's bedroom door had banged open as the two of them crashed into it, not even bothering to close it behind them. Isabelle fell onto the bed, pulling Simon down on top of her. They had kissed, and as time passed, the kiss deepened. When Isabelle had reached to take off Simon's shirt, she pressed her neck up against Simon's mouth. He could feel the blood pulsing under her thin skin. He could feel his fangs moving into place. He knew Izzy was strong, but he was stronger still. . .she wouldn't even have a chance—

Simon had pushed the thought, as well as Isabelle, away. He had stood up and breathed in deeply, closing his eyes and leaning his head back.

"Simon?" Isabelle had sounded so small, like a child, when she spoke. "Simon—"

Simon had opened his eyes to see her sitting up on the bed, her shirt, jeans, jacket, and weapons belt already discarded. "Isabelle," Simon said through labored breathing, "you. . .you should go."

Isabelle had stood up, walking cautiously toward him. "Simon. It's okay." Simon shook his head.

"It's the blood," he had said through gritted teeth. "I can't—"

"Then don't. Don't fight it," Isabelle said plainly, her eyes wide. "Take it, Simon. Take my blood. Please, take it. I want you to." She was begging now, holding out her wrist. "Please, Simon," she whispered. "I don't ever want you to be afraid to be yourself around me."

He had looked at her, his eyes pleading for her to understand. "I could hurt you—"

"And I could hurt you back. We make quite the team, you and me," she said, smiling weakly.

Simon had looked up at her for a moment longer before finally conceding. He grabbed her outstretched arm and pulled Isabelle closer to him, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of her neck. She had let out a little gasp, more in shock than in pain, and the two had fallen back onto the bed in their strange embrace.

Now, the following morning, Isabelle reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out her stele. Quickly, she carved an _iratze_ into her arm, and, as Simon watched, the wounds on Isabelle's neck faded, and she visibly began to regain her strength. She smiled and walked over to Simon, putting her arms around his waist.

"So," Izzy said mischievously, "Do you have any plans today?"

"Not that I am aware of," Simon answered cautiously. "Why?"

"Because you help me forget how bad things are. Especially when you do that little thing you were so amazing at last night. . ." She smiled at him coyly.

Simon beamed back warmly. "Oh, you mean this?" he asked, and he pulled her close, kissing her gently. Slowly, Isabelle backed the two of them up until they were standing at the edge of the bed again. She pulled Simon down on top of her and rolled over, so she could look at him. She laughed, then leaned in for another kiss—

—when all of a sudden, a sharp ringing cut through the room. Isabelle's cell phone.

Izzy snapped her head up, turning to look at her clothes. She pushed up off of the bed and rushed over to her jacket, made from the same tough, black, leather-like material the Shadowhunters used as their gear, where she pulled her phone out of the pocket. She looked at the caller ID and froze.

Simon, noticing her discomfort, asked, "Who is it?"

Isabelle looked at him, one eyebrow arched in confusion.

"It's Clary."


	5. Chapter 2: Darkness and Deception

"Clary, are you insane?" The reproachful voice on the other end of the phone was Isabelle's. "If I did that and Jace found out about it—"

"Who says Jace ever has to know?" Clary challenged.

Following Jace's outburst in the greenhouse, he had stormed away, leaving Clary alone in his wake. Numbly, she had made her way down the stairs and through the maze-like halls of the Institute, eventually ending up in her bedroom. She'd tried to think about what had just happened, but she was too exhausted. Training and fighting with Jace had drained all of her energy, and within a few minutes of lying down on her bed, Clary was asleep.

The next morning, when she woke up, there was a plan already forming in her mind. She had gone to Isabelle's room to explain it to her, only to find the room vacant. Upon checking the library, kitchen, and weapons room, Clary had finally returned to her own room and decided to just call Izzy. When she answered, Isabelle was out of breath and whispering, as if she didn't want to be overheard.

"Clary?" Isabelle breathed quickly.

"Isabelle?" Clary had asked in surprise. "Where are you?"

"Oh," she said, seemingly searching for something to say. "I went out hunting. I couldn't sleep." Clary heard a muffled voice in the background, recognizable but not immediately identifiable, and heard Izzy shush the person.

"Isabelle?" Clary asked cautiously. "Who are you with?"

"Um. . .No one you'd know. Just a. . . friend. Definitely not anyone you've ever met in your entire life. Ever." Isabelle hazarded unconvincingly.

"What? Iz. . ." Clary trailed off, wondering who Isabelle could be with that would make her so defensive. Unless. . . "Oh my God. Isabelle, you're not with. . ." Clary jumped up from her place on her bed in a surprised realization. "Are you with Simon?!" she exclaimed.

There had been a pause, and Isabelle had sighed.

"Clary, please don't be mad." Isabelle begged, but Clary wasn't angry. Instead, she was happy for Simon. From the first moment he had met Isabelle, Simon had had feelings for her, and after what had been going on between the two of them in recent months since they had been home from Idris, Clary had been worried they would never be okay again.

"No, Isabelle, I'm not mad. I'm just. . . Surprised, that's all. But I do really need to talk to you about something."

"Is something wrong?"

Clary heard Simon in the background ask "What's she saying? What's going on?" Both questions were, of course, ignored by Isabelle.

"Not particularly, but I need your help with a plan I'm working on."

"Uh oh," Isabelle replied uneasily. "Should I be worried Clary?"

Clary scoffed, and then eagerly laid her out plan for Izzy —a plan to get Jace away from the Institute long enough for her to slip out, unnoticed and unprevented. Isabelle, though, seemed slightly less enthused.

"Jace is obsessive about protecting you, Clary. He won't just leave you alone at the Institute unprotected for no good reason."

"What if Alec took him out hunting? He always trusts Alec. Plus, it will get Alec's mind off of Magnus for a little while. Jace never has to know. We can just tell him that you're going to keep an eye on me."

"And next week, when he asks you where you got whatever you're getting him for his birthday?"

"I'll tell him the truth. He'll be really mad, but he won't be able to undo it. And maybe he'll see that I didn't exactly die while I was out and he'll loosen the reins a little. What's the worst that could happen? Actually," Clary added hastily, "don't answer that. Look Isabelle, I am suffocating here, and Jace can't get much worse than he already is. What's the harm in trying?"

"Clary, did you ever think that maybe Jace might have a point about this? I know it's a foreign concept and it doesn't happen all that often, but my brother can be right on occasion. You know Sebastian is insane, and he isn't going to stop until he has both you and Jace with him."

"I know. But Isabelle, I still believe in what I said when I came to visit Jace right after he woke up after we got home from the Burren. Sebastian won't come back for Jace and me until he's sure he's going to win this war; he won't come for us until he's got an army and he's ready to use it. So, if he's ready to start coming after me just over a month after we last saw him, we have a lot more to be worried about than just my safety."

"I thought you were trying to convince me that you wanted to less supervision, not more." Isabelle said blandly.

Clary wished Isabelle could see the exasperated look crossing her face. "Why is it that none of you think I can take care of myself? Jace has been training me for months, even before what happened with Sebastian—"

"And Sebastian's been training with Valentine his entire life, Clary. And he's got an army of Dark Shadowhunters. _And_ they're all ridiculously faster and stronger than any other Shadowhunters, including Jace. Now do you see why? Can you see why Jace is worried so much?"

"Not particularly," Clary muttered under her breath. "I'm stronger than you think."

"I know you're strong. But you're just not strong enough to take them on. I'm not even sure if the Clave is strong enough to take them on."

"God, Isabelle, I'm going out for maybe an hour. I'll stick to the shadows, I'll keep watch over my shoulder, and I'll call you every five minutes. One hour, that's it. I promise."

"I still don't know about this, Clary." Isabelle said, though resignedly, and Clary knew that the fight had already been won.

"Don't worry. If I mysteriously die, I promise to let Jace know somehow that it wasn't your fault. Even if I have to haunt him as a ghost."

There was a long pause, and Clary could hear Isabelle talking to Simon in the background, though their words were muffled, presumably by Isabelle's hand over the phone's microphone. Clary glanced around her room briefly as she waited for Isabelle, catching sight of herself in her vanity table mirror. She looked different. Not older, not really thinner or paler, but just _different_. It wasn't something she could put a finger on just yet.

"Clary?" Isabelle said wearily, snapping Clary back to reality. "Are you still there?"

"Yeah. I'm here," she said quickly. "So?" Clary bit her lip anxiously. "Are you in?"

Isabelle sighed dramatically. "What do you need me to do?"

Clary felt a smile stretching across her face. "Thank you! Thank you so much Isabelle!"

"Yeah, well, just don't make me regret this."

Clary shook her head, then realized belatedly that Isabelle couldn't see her. "I won't," she replied hastily. "I promise."

"Alright. I guess I'll go call Alec then."

"Are you sure? I could call him if you wanted—"

"No, I should be the one to do it. Alec has been. . . Well, he's been a bit unstable since he and Magnus. . ." Isabelle trailed off, but Clary understood her completely.

"Oh. He's that bad? What am I saying? Of course he is. I mean, it _was_ him and Magnus. You're right. You should be the one to call him."

 

Alec was walking in Prospect Park with Tessa's hand at the crook of his elbow, and he wondered briefly what time she must have grown up in to have learned such ancient-seeming customs and propriety. He looked at the trees, all of the leaves already fallen, now lying with a light frost covering them on the ground. His mind was still reeling from what Tessa had told him. The story of the London Institute and of her friends. And of Will.

"Your husband? Will was. . . I mean, he wasn't. . ." Alec felt silly even thinking the words now. He took a deep breath and began again. "He and Magnus weren't—"

Alec's sentence was cut short when Tessa stopped suddenly, her surprisingly strong grip on his arm dragging him to a halt as well.

"What's Magnus got to do with anything?" Tessa responded suspiciously. Off Alec's bashful reaction, she inquired, "Alec, surely you didn't think there had ever been anything. . . romantic between _Will_ and _Magnus_?" Tessa looked up at him, but Alec turned before she could catch his glance.

"No," he muttered under his breath. He sighed and turned back to Tessa. "It's nothing. It's just that Camille had led me to believe—"

Tessa, to Alec's surprise, let out a ringing laughter and turned her gaze away from him. "Camille? As in Lady Camille Belcourt? Well, I can imagine what you heard from _her_ about Will and Magnus." She laughed again, softer this time, and turned back to Alec. "Magnus told me the story a few years after Will passed away. I wasn't. . . Well, I wasn't in a good place. Magnus was trying to cheer me up, so he told me why he and Camille had broken things off between the two of them. I don't recall all the details, but if I'm not mistaken, it included Will being somewhat incapacitated due to the after-effects of some spell, Magnus kissing him, and Will never remembering any of it."

"Oh" was all Alec could manage to say in response. He brought a hand up to cover his eyes, ashamed of himself for ever believing anything Camille Belcourt had said. "Name of the Angel, what is wrong with me?"

Tessa put a gentle hand on Alec's arm. "It's not your fault. Camille Belcourt is a manipulative, crazy, evil—" She stopped upon seeing Alec's stunned gaze. "What? Just because I'm a hundred years old means I have to act like the proper lady I was raised be? Magnus is over 800 years old, right? And yet he dresses in all the latest brands and styles like some major fashionista teenager and wears glitter every chance he gets. We have to keep up appearances, you know. We can't just act our age. It might frighten mundanes if they ever knew how much we know and hold in our minds."

Alec laughed despite himself. "Alright. Fair enough."

Tessa smiled up at him. "That's another thing we immortals become really good at over the years. We can help others feel better about their lives, as we have lived more than one lifetime ourselves."

Alec laughed, harsher this time. "Unless you're Camille, who got too bored with that and went on to destroying other people's lives instead."

"Wait." Tessa eyed Alec cautiously. "Alec, please tell me that this little misunderstanding isn't what happened between you and Magnus."

"Not exactly. . . I was worried about how Magnus would live forever after me. And Camille, she offered me a way to make sure that it wasn't a problem."

Tessa's expression darkened. "She offered you immortality?"

Alec shook his head. "No, she knew I wasn't interested in immortality. But, she did offer to take away Magnus's."

Tessa let go of Alec's arm and backed away, a look of horror in her eyes. "Alexander, you didn't. Please tell me you didn't," she whispered.

"No! Of course not! I told Camille that I'd never do anything for her and I'd never do that to Magnus, but it didn't matter. She told Magnus I'd been meeting with her and that was enough for him. Tessa," Alec continued, his voice pleading with her to understand, "I just. . . I didn't want to be another one Magnus's boyfriends that he hides along with the rest of his past from everyone he meets in the future."

"So _that's_ what this is really about? You're mad that he hides his past from you? Alec, he has 800 years of his past that he has to deal with. He's bound to have some things he doesn't want you to know! He hasn't exactly always been a saint. He hasn't fought for anything in his life—not until he met you. Now he's off fighting for some Shadowhunters that he just met a few months ago? Can't you see how much he cares about you? You're afraid Magnus will forget about you and go on to love other people. You think it's even _possible_ for him to move on from you? Well, you're wrong. I've never seen Magnus act this way about anybody. He doesn't just love you, Alexander. He's _in_ love with you. I don't think you have to worry about him loving anyone else. What you _do_ have to worry about is whether or not you two will stop being so selfish long enough to realize that you have one lifetime together and that you are wasting it playing these childish games!" Tessa's voice had raised to a shout now and her eyes were filling with tears.

"Tessa, I—" Alec sputtered, interrupted by a sharp ringing coming from the cell phone in his pocket. He exhaled heavily and brought the phone up to his ear, answering on the fourth ring. "Hey, Iz, can you hold on a second?" He lowered the phone and pressed it against his shoulder. "Tessa," he said. "Please just. . . Stay for a minute?"

She nodded reluctantly and he breathed a sigh of relief as he walked just far enough from her where he was out of earshot before putting the phone up to his ear again. "Isabelle, this had better be pretty damned important."

Alec spoke to his sister for a few minutes, then hung up the phone after a quick "'bye." He turned back to Tessa, who was twisting a pearl bracelet around her wrist absently. He cleared his throat as he walked the short distance back to where she was standing and she looked up at him. "It sounds like you have to go somewhere," she said.

"Yes, I do, but. . . Tessa, I need you to understand something. I know Magnus loves me. And I love him too. More than I probably should. What I did was a mistake and I will have to live with that for the rest of my life. But I don't know if I can live without _him_ for the rest of my life. You'll tell him that won't you?"

Tessa smiled sadly. "Of course I will." She turned to walk away. Alec watched her for a moment and hesitated before finally calling out her name one last time.

"Tessa?" he called. She paused and looked over her shoulder at him. "What do you know about Magnus's father?"

Tessa smiled. "I think you'll have to ask him that yourself. When you two are alright again."

 

Clary growled in frustration, ripping yet another page out of her sketchpad, crumpling it up, and tossing it into a quickly growing pile of paper surrounding the small trash can in her room. After she had talked to Isabelle, Clary had dozed off to a dream world of angels and demons, angels that turned out to be demons, demons that became angels, when an image had suddenly come across her field of vision; it was a design like nothing she'd ever seen. It reminded her of an _iratze_ rune, but there was something too different about it. And now, she had been sitting at her desk for the better part of an hour trying to get the design down on paper, but, no matter how many times she drew it, there was always something about the drawing that was fundamentally _wrong_. She put her head in her hands and sighed in exasperation.

A loud knocking at her door made her snap her head up, her hand reaching instinctively for the stele on the desk. "Who is it?" she called.

"Clary, it's me." _Oh, great_ , Clary thought to herself. _Jace. I can_ not _face him right now._

"What do you want?" she said, more savagery in her voice than she felt.

"Can I come in for a second? I just want to talk about what happened—"

"Yeah, well, I don't. So, no. You can't come in." She stood up from her chair and turned to face the door, but she didn't move to open it.

"Clary," Jace complained, and Clary heard the door rattle, silently praising herself on the forethought to lock it when she had called Izzy. "Clary, come on. Open the door!" Jace exclaimed.

Clary hated hearing the sense of betrayal in his voice, but she knew that if she opened that door, she would lose all of her resolve to carry out her plan. So, instead she just sat down on her bed and closed her eyes, remaining silent.

The door rattled harder. "You know I can break down this door, right?"

"You know that won't get you anywhere, right?" Clary stood up from her bed and moved over to press her ear against the door.

"Clary, please," Jace whispered.

"I think you should just go, Jace. Please," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

For a moment, there was only silence on the other side of the door. Then, Clary heard Jace's heavy boots hard on the wooden floors of the Institute's hallways as he stormed off.

She let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding in her lungs and sat back down at her desk, picking up her pen and putting it to the paper in her sketchpad once more.

 

Isabelle had thrown on her shirt haphazardly, half of the buttons still undone as she passed through the living room of Simon's apartment on her way to the front door. She turned to face Simon, who was trailing behind her, and smiled, reaching her hands up to finish buttoning the shirt. "I guess I'll see you later."

Simon put his arms around Isabelle's waist and pulled her close. "Are you sure you have to go right now?"

Isabelle smiled back at him and put her arms around his neck—without her heels on, she and Simon were about the same height. "I don't know," she mused. "I _could_ be persuaded to stay a little while longer." She brought her face closer to his and Simon closed the distance between the two of them, touching his lips gently to hers. After just a few seconds, Isabelle was leading the two of them to the futon couch in the living room while Simon was unbuttoning her shirt again. They fell—quite ungracefully—onto the couch, and it would have ended up the same as it had the night before had it not been for the fact that, at that particular moment, someone that was not Simon or Isabelle cleared his throat from the now-open front doorway. Isabelle jumped up and turned around to see Jordan Kyle, Simon's werewolf roommate, standing there with a very embarrassed Maia Roberts, Jordan's girlfriend and Simon's ex-girlfriend that also happened to be a werewolf.

"Jordan!" Simon exclaimed, sitting up quickly and holding out a throw blanket from the arm of the couch to Isabelle, who took it graciously. "Hey, I thought you two were on bodyguard duty for Jocelyn and Luke's place for a few more days."

"In other words, 'Hey, man. I thought you were going to be gone all weekend so I decided to invite my girlfriend over so that I could screw her on every single plausible surface in my apartment'?"

Isabelle's eyebrows shot up and her mouth dropped open. She turned to Simon, who looked like he was ready to start coming up with theories as to how he would explain his roommate's "accidental" fall from a seventh story window.

Maia nudged Jordan with her elbow, her cheeks turning even brighter red than they already were. "Jordan!" she chided. She turned back to Simon and Isabelle, trying to avoid looking at the latter too closely. "Luke and Jocelyn wanted some privacy. They've been through a lot lately and they just wanted some space. I'm really sorry about this. Come on, Jordan, we can come back later. Sorry we, um. . . Interrupted." She turned away to walk back through the door, her hand firmly on Jordan's arm.

"Don't worry about it," Isabelle said blandly, standing up and tossing the blanket back onto the futon. "I was just about to leave anyway." She bent down and planted a brief kiss on Simon's cheek before straightening up and striding through the open door, brushing past Jordan roughly as she did.

When she was gone, Jordan turned back to Simon and whistled. "Damn, you sure know how to pick 'em, Lewis."

Simon stood up and, within a few long strides, he was standing right in front of Jordan, close enough that they were breathing the same air. "What the Hell is the matter with you? Ever since you went away to the Praetor House, you have been trying to sabotage me in any way you can. What is going on with you, man?"

Jordan pushed Simon away violently, his anger exploding outward. "What's wrong with me? Nothing's wrong with _me_. I just can't stand the fact that you're dating some Shadowhunter bitch that wouldn't think twice about killing you if you weren't best friends with the girl her brother's dating. As for me, if you weren't rooming with me, if I hadn't pulled your ass off the streets because you were my assignment, she'd have no problem killing me either. And you know what else? I can't stand the sight of you since that monster of a vampire you made out of an innocent little girl killed my old roommate and one of my closest friends."

"Jordan," Maia whispered, horrified.

Simon didn't drop his gaze from Jordan as he spoke. "No, Maia, it's fine. I guess I have my answer." Simon grabbed his coat off of the rack by the door. "I'm going out. Don't wait up for me."

He pulled on his jacket briskly, followed by a scarf that Isabelle had picked out for him as an early Christmas gift, and stormed out of the apartment after Isabelle, not looking back to see if either of the others followed him.

 

Jace slammed the door behind him and ran his long fingers through his hair. His heart was racing and he could feel the heat rising in his veins. He rushed into the bathroom to splash cold water onto his face and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. He stared at the dully glowing skin behind the stark black shapes of his Marks and froze with his hand on the faucet. _What's happening to me?_ he thought despairingly. He shook his head and returned his attention to the sink, picking up a handful of water and throwing it onto his face, the cold liquid sizzling as it came in contact with his skin. He sighed and returned to his bed, flopping down onto it resignedly. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out, holding the screen in front of his face to read the caller ID. Jace sighed again and answered it.

"Alec, now is _not_ a good time—"

"I don't care about your stupid little problems right now. Stop moping around. We have a demon to hunt." Jace laughed softly. "What's so funny?" Alec snapped.

"Nothing, it's just. . . That's almost the exact same thing you said to me when I first came to the Institute, remember?"

"Exactly," Alec said. "Didn't care about your problems then, don't care now."

"Ugh," Jace groaned. "Some _parabatai_ you are. I think I liked you a whole lot better when you were with—"

"If you say his name, I swear on the Angel I will cut your intestines out of your body and draw an _iratze_ on you so you'll live long enough for me to shove them down your throat _before_ I decapitate you with a seraph blade. Got it?"

"Yeah," Jace said, sitting up. "I definitely liked you better when you were with Magnus."

"JACE WAY— HERON—LIGHT. . ." Alec sputtered, finally resigning to just yelling Jace's name again, but Jace had already dropped his phone from his ear and hung up on him.

Jace tossed the phone on his bed beside him, ignoring it when it began buzzing again. After it went silent for a moment, it started up yet again. Jace knew who it was, but he didn't care. He was in a bad mood, so when he finally answered it on the seventh set of rings, he yelled into the phone: "What in the name of the Angel in Heaven could you possibly want?"

There was a pause, then an unexpected voice spoke softly. "I, um. . . Alec was trying to call you. He said you hung up on him and he needed to talk to you. I'm sorry," Clary added in a barely audible whisper. "I didn't mean to bother you."

Jace closed his eyes and put the hand that wasn't holding his phone to his forehead. "Clary. No, you weren't bothering me. I'm sorry, I—"

"Just call Alec," Clary said shortly, and the line went dead.

"Clary!" Jace exclaimed, though he knew he was too late.

He dropped the phone from his ear, resisting the urge to throw it against the wall. He dialed Alec's number and waited. When Alec picked up, his voice rang with an annoyance that Jace had only heard Alec use in the weeks since the break up.

"Oh, have you finally decided to—" Alec began.

"Not in the mood for chit chat, brother. Where am I meeting you and what are we killing?"

  
            Clary had been walking past shop after shop trying figure out what she was going to buy Jace for his birthday. Everything she thought of or saw seemed not _enough_ to her. It all seemed too general or too mundane, in every sense of the word. She wanted to give Jace something that had meaning, something that had value. Now, Clary was beginning to wonder if her plan and lying to Jace had all been for nothing.

As she passed an older building, she suddenly realized how empty this part of the street was. Empty of people and, for that matter, any other signs of life. Her hand reached down to her waist, onto which her weapons belt was strapped. She had almost left it behind at the Institute, thinking it would draw unwanted and unneeded attention to her from mundanes, but she ultimately decided that a glamour rune and a weapons belt would be the safest course of action. She rested the tips of her fingers on the seraph blade that was holstered in the belt now. A rustling sound came from the building to her right and she froze, turning her head to look at it, a seemingly abandoned brick warehouse with broken windows and an eerie feeling surrounding it. Clary pulled the seraph blade from her belt and whispered its name. " _Elerial_."

She stepped through the open door into the dark structure, bringing her witchlight out in the hand not clutching the seraph blade, light shooting out between her fingers and illuminating the room. She looked around quickly, surveying the huge room with its shadowed corners. She shook her head, sure that she was being paranoid and that there had been no real reason to panic. She started to lower her witchlight when a blow to her head sent her flying to the ground face first, her witchlight stone flying from her hand and landing halfway across the room. She broke the fall with her hands and knees, taking no pause before she jumped back up, the battle euphoria taking effect. She was barely able to see the thing that had attacked her, but she could tell that it was not her brother, as she had feared, but rather a demon she recognized from the Shadowhunter's Codex—a Scorpios demon. Its scorpion tail, she knew, held dangerous poison in its sting. Its yellow eyes studied her while it hissed through its razor-sharp needle-like teeth.

" _Shadowhunte_ r," it growled, moving closer to Clary, where the light of _Elerial_ finally illuminated its wrinkled face. The demon suddenly charged at Clary, moving faster than any normal human, even with the sight, could probably see. However, thanks to the Shadowhunter battle euphoria, her mind was able to slow everything down to a frame by frame view of the attack, and, with a sweeping swing of her seraph blade, she cut through the demons three legs, bringing the sword up in an arc that also removed its swinging tail. The demon bellowed a sharp cry and fell, unable to move itself. Black ichor covered the angel blade and burned the skin on Clary's face where it touched her. She moved over to the demon's writhing form and delivered one final blow that decapitated it cleanly, its head rolling away in the moments before the body began folding inward on itself, eventually disappearing back to its own home dimension, just as the Eidolon demon at Pandemonium had when she and Jace had first met.

 _And they thought I couldn't protect myself_ , Clary thought to herself as she strode across the room to collect her witchlight. She sighed sadly upon seeing it, the smooth stone broken perfectly in half. She picked up the two pieces, one to each hand, and they glowed dimly. When she placed the two pieces together, though, the light flared up to its usual glory, and Clary smiled at it, now realizing exactly what she could give Jace—something special, something with meaning, something that only she could ever give him.

 

Magnus's apartment had changed yet again by the time Tessa returned after her talk in the park with Alec. What had been a Victorian mansion now looked like a college student's dorm room, with posters for bands like the Plain White T's and Linkin Park hanging on the otherwise bare walls and strings of Christmas lights serving as the only light source in the front hallway. She had to try three doors before she finally found Magnus's bedroom, complete with sappy Taylor Swift music and the passed out High Warlock of Brooklyn spread out on the bed. Tessa rolled her eyes and walked over to the iPod dock, pausing the music mid-song. "Magnus?" She said gently. He didn't move.

She sighed and stalked over to the bed, nudging Magnus's shoulder harshly. "Magnus!" she yelled, much louder than she had said before. "Get up! Now!"

Magnus groaned, but didn't open his eyes. "Leave me alone. I'm sulking."

"I can see that." Tessa said, her voice tinged with annoyance.

Magnus raised a hand and waved it at the iPod, starting the music again.

"Are you planning on getting out of that bed any time soon?" Tessa asked.

"Nope. Why would I?"

"For the love of God, Magnus, get up!"

"No!"

Tessa went back over to the iPod dock, picked it up, and threw it down on the ground hard. Magnus jumped up from the bed and looked down at it, horrified. "What did you do that for?" he exclaimed.

"You have to stop feeling so sorry for yourself. Do you even realize how selfish you're being?"

Magnus looked at her incredulously. " _I'm_ being selfish? You have no idea what he even did—"

"Yes, I do. Alec told me everything. About Camille, about what she promised him, about what he considered doing for you."

"For _me_?" Magnus scoffed. "How was what he did anything other than selfishness?"

"He's just afraid of losing you, Magnus! He's afraid that you'll go on to love someone else, that he's just one of the thousands of relationships you'll have in your lifetime and he's afraid that you'll forget him!"

"I'm afraid of losing him too!" Magnus screamed, his voice cracking at the end as his expression morphed from anger to hurt. "But you don't see me trying to make him into a vampire or some other immortal being for my own selfish reasons, do you?"

"That's not the point!" Tessa cried, tears springing into her eyes. "That's not the point at all, Magnus. You're _both_ being selfish. Do you know what I would give to have either of the loves of my life back? Will and Jem are both gone. I would give anything to spend just one more day with either of them, and here you two are, denying how much you love each other, wasting the short time you have together because of one stupid mistake."

Magnus's expression sobered and he looked at her sympathetically. "Tessa, I know you think this is stupid, but I don't know how I can be with him after this. Knowing that neither of us would be truly happy because one of us would have to live without the other eventually. And I don't know if I can live with the person that tried to end my life."

Tessa smiled faintly. "Do you remember what Will and I were like to each other at first? I felt like we spent the entire time trying to make each other angry. It's what people do when they're in love, Magnus. They do stupid things. It doesn't always mean that things between those people aren't meant to be. It just means that sometimes you have to work harder than you've ever worked at anything to get to a place where you can be in a happy relationship."

Magnus shook his head. "But what if we really weren't meant to be? What if I made a mistake, getting tied up in this relationship?"

"You may not see it, Magnus, but I do. You've always been at the edge of Covenant law, always that one step away from breaking it, and do you know why? Because, deep down, you hated Shadowhunters and their laws. You thought they only lived to destroy each other and everything around them. And yet, now you're helping them every chance you get. I know you haven't changed your mind so quickly. You're just trying to impress Alec, trying to show him that what you believed and what you did in the past doesn't matter anymore."

"So what if that was the reason?" Magnus said exasperatedly. "It didn't seem to work did it? Alec has always had a problem with my past, and I don't think there's anything any of us can do that will change that."

"Of course there is, Magnus!" Tessa said, equally exasperated. "If he's so obsessed with your past, then just tell him what he wants to know. What could be so terrible that you think it will send a strong Shadowhunter like Alexander Lightwood running for the hills?"

Magnus didn't answer immediately. Instead, he shuffled over to the window, looking down at the deserted street below. "He doesn't know the worst part about me yet," Magnus said desolately.

Tessa sighed, turning to face him. "You're talking about your father."

Magnus nodded and looked at her over his shoulder, his cat eyes burning darkly. "Yes."

"And you think that, if he knows who your father is, he'll leave you?"

"You almost did. The only reason you didn't is because you knew we had an eternity together and that it wouldn't do either of us any good to hide from one another. You learned to accept it nearly fifty _years_ after I told you. With Alec, I'm not even sure he'll have until next week or even until tomorrow to come to terms with the truth. I'm scared I'll lose him for good."

"Well, if you keep this up, you definitely will."

Magnus sighed and put his head in his hand. "I know. I just. . . I need some time, Tessa."

Tessa pursed her lips together. "Fine. Let me know when you're finally ready to continue living the way you're supposed to. Until then, there's nothing I can help you with, Magnus. I came here to help you figure out what went wrong between you and Alec and to help you deal with it, just like you have always helped me. But you already knew what happened, and you know exactly how to fix it. You're just too stubborn. And that's something I can't help you with." Tessa spun and stormed out of the apartment, leaving a very stunned and tired Magnus without another word.

 

Clary thanked the cashier and took the small gift wrapped box from her, smiling down at it as she walked out of the gift wrapping boutique. She looked down at her watch to make sure that she wasn't running over her allotted hour timespan—if she was, Isabelle would probably kill her. _5:47_ , the watch read. _Crap_ , thought Clary. She'd left the Institute at 5. Though it had not been a full hour yet, it was too close to the mark for Clary's liking.

Quickly, she ducked into an alleyway, which, being free of the foot traffic of the sidewalk, acted as a much needed shortcut on her way back home. Her boots tapped on the rough pavement as she walked, her gaze cast downward at the present in her hands. As she strayed farther and farther from the street, the noises of the city fell away slowly, until she was surrounded by a haunting silence. When her phone buzzed in her pocket, it startled her, making her heart jump into an erratic pattern of beating. She looked at her phone and sighed, answering.

"Clary, where in the name of the Angel are you? Jace could be back any minute!" Isabelle's voice was verging on hysteria.

"I know, and I'm sorry," Clary said, picking up her walking pace. "It took a little while longer than I'd hoped, but I'm on my way back there right now. If Jace gets back before me, stall. I'll be there in maybe ten minutes." She hung up before Isabelle had the chance to object and she was almost running toward the mouth of the alley as it came into sight.

She heard a loud noise behind her, and stopped, turning around suddenly, her hand at her weapons belt, though she no longer had a seraph blade sheathed there. Upon deciding that there was no threat here, Clary furrowed her brow, wondering what the noise could possibly have been. She shrugged and was about to turn around when an unsettlingly familiar voice rang out behind her.

"I'm assuming that little gift is for me?"

Clary shivered unconsciously. "Sebastian," she breathed as she turned around to face her brother. He stood in front of her, having discarded the red gear of the ceremony at the Seventh Sacred Site in favor of the classic black Shadowhunter fighting gear. He could have been any Shadowhunter, except for the fact that _he_ , Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern, was the complete opposite of everything a Shadowhunter was.

"You know, my birthday isn't for another few weeks, you didn't have to get me anything yet. Then again, how would you know that? That bitch of a mother we share snatched you up before we could ever properly meet." Sebastian smiled a wicked grin and moved closer to her, his arms open as if he were expecting her to run to and embrace him. Instead, Clary was inching away from him, backing away as slowly as she could. "Hello, little sister," Sebastian continued in a slow, drawling voice. "Miss me?"

Clary knew she had no weapons, no backup, and, as far away from the streets as she was, no one would even be able to hear her scream. Instinctively, she turned on her heel and ran as fast as she could, though she knew it was a futile gesture. As Isabelle had made it clear to her, Clary's brother was faster and stronger than any other Shadowhunter out there. Still, when Sebastian suddenly grabbed Clary from behind by the collar of her jacket, she let out a scream of surprise.

He wrenched her to a stop, pulling her against his body and throwing an arm around her shoulders to keep her from running. Though she knew it would do her no good, Clary opened her mouth and let out a blood curling scream, only to have Sebastian's hand clamp down over her lips just moments later. Her head was spinning. _Why didn't I just listen to Isabelle?_ she thought desperately. _God, why am I so stupid sometimes?_ Her brother held her still against him despite her thrashing, his arm tight across her shoulders despite her clawing at it.

"Shh, little sis," he whispered into her ear, sending another shiver down her spine. "I know. I missed you too.”


	6. Chapter 3: Swear on the Angel

Jace held  _Leliel_ lazily in his hand as he leaned against a tree, watching Alec with a less than enthralled gaze.

“Oh, come on! It’s like you’ve never used a sensor before in your life.” Jace grumbled, looking dismally at the oblong shape in his  _parabatai_ ’s hand. “You do remember how to use it, don’t you?

“Of course I know how to use it,” replied Alec irritably. “Now be quiet.”

“We’ve been at this for almost an hour. I think it’s safe to say that, even if there was a demon here earlier, it’s long gone by now. So, can we just go back to the Institute?”

“No,” Alec said nervously. “I swear, I think we’re getting closer. The report said the demon has been sighted right around here lately. Just. . . Humor me. Please?”

Jace rolled his eyes and sighed. He returned his gaze to Alec, whose face betrayed a sense of uneasiness. “What are you so worried about?”

“What are you talking about?” Alec said distractedly, his eyes not raising to meet Jace’s.

Jace pushed himself off the tree and snuck up silently behind Alec, looking over his shoulder to see that the object in Alec's hand that held his gaze wasn’t his sensor, but his cell phone.

“Expecting a call?” Jace asked, and Alec spun around in surprise.

“Angel’s name, Jace,” said Alec, sounding slightly out of breath. “Don’t do that!”

“Is there something more interesting than the dangerous otherworldly demon we’re currently supposed to be hunting?”

“Of course not. It’s just...” Alec seemed at a loss for words.

Jace's expression softened. “Look, I understand.”

“You do?” Alec asked doubtfully.

“You don’t have to hide it. You aren’t that good at it, anyway. Look, I know you miss Magnus. But you can’t just keep waiting around for him to call you all the time.”

“Jace,”  Alec began slowly, shaking his head. “That’s not—”

“Why are you being so defensive about it? I get that it’s hard to talk about, but I can tell that you’re not yourself lately—”

“I’m not defensive, and it’s got nothing to do with. . . I mean. . .” Alec paused a moment, thousands of thoughts seeming to run through his head. Finally he closed his eyes and sighed, beginning again, jumping on the next sentence a bit too eagerly, though not enough to raise suspicions from Jace. “I don’t know what to do about him. I always find myself looking at the phone, waiting for a call or a text, but neither ever comes.”

Alec didn’t meet Jace’s eyes as he spoke, though Jace attributed it to nerves and awkwardness. After all, this wasn’t the kind of conversation two guys normally had with each other. “Sometimes, I call him,” Alec continued, “but when he answers, I just hang up. I don’t know what to say to him. I’ll even end up at his apartment in the middle of the night, but I’d always just walk away. And then, last night, I actually went to his apartment, and there was a girl there—”

“Oh,” said Jace, following Alec, who had sat down on the soft grass below the tree.

“No, not like that.” Alec continued. “She’s just his friend. And save me the joke about that one please.”

Jace’s expression mimicked one of hurt. “I would never joke about such serious matters."

Alec laughed. “Right. Anyway, the girl, she told me a lot, and it all made me think about everything differently, and I haven’t talked to Magnus since, and I know Tessa’s talked to him, so I don’t know if I should call him or if I should wait for him to call me or if I should just go over there and talk to him in person—”

Jace rolled his eyes again. “Oh, by the Angel, Alec, give me your phone.”

Alec held out the phone hesitantly. “Why? What are you about to do?”

“This,” Jace replied, and he snatched the phone out of Alec’s hand, throwing it on the ground and stomping on it with his heavy boot, effectively shattering the screen. “There. Now there’s no choice about it. Go over to Magnus’s place and talk to him, so I can quit worrying about you and so I can go home.”

Alec looked down at the shattered pieces in disbelief. “You  _broke_  my  _phone._ ”

Jace shrugged. “Guys don’t let other guys keep calling other guys. Okay, that came out wrong. Friends don’t let friends keep calling their exes and hanging up. Seriously. You have to stop.”

Alec looked furious. “So you broke my brand new phone? Thanks a lot.”

Jace smiled serenely and lay back on the grass. “You’re welcome.”

A small, distorted ringing broke Jace out of his reverie, finding Alec still glaring at him miserably. The pair of them looked at the source of the ringing, which happened to be the broken lump of what used to be Alec’s cell phone. Alec raised his gaze to Jace’s, the rage still fresh in his eyes “Would you please get that for me? Oh wait, you can’t, because you BROKE MY PHONE!”

Jace stifled a laugh, and the phone stopped ringing momentarily, though it began again only seconds later. By the third set of rings, Alec still hadn’t talked to Jace, even refusing to look in his direction. After the ringing stopped for a full minute, Jace was sure that whoever it was had decided to call back later. And then he felt the buzzing of his own phone is his jeans pocket. He groaned and pulled it out, not bothering to look at the caller ID, as he was sure he already knew who was calling.

“Look, Magnus, I appreciate the enthusiasm, and I’m sure Alec does too, but—”

“Magnus? No,” a very female and not-Magnus voice answered. “Jace, it’s Isabelle. Are you still with Alec?”

Jace could hear the distress in Isabelle’s voice even through the static of the phone. “Iz? What’s wrong? Are you alright?” Alec looked over at the mention of his sister’s name, a sense of uneasiness plain on his face.

“I’m fine,” Isabelle said quickly. “Can you hand the phone to Alec for a minute? I’ve been trying to reach him but he didn’t answer and I’ve been getting worried—”

“Oh, no worries.” Jace jumped up off the ground, smiling cruelly at Alec. “It’s just that Alec’s phone doesn’t. . . quite get the best reception right now.”

Alec scowled at Jace and held out his hand expectantly for the phone. “Hand it over.”

“Who says she wants to talk to you?”

“Jace!” exclaimed both Alec and Isabelle at the same time.

Jace handed over the phone quickly. “Name of the Angel, are you sure you two aren’t twins? Sometimes, I honestly wonder if you have that weird telepathy thing—”

“Oh, shut  _up_.” Alec said irritably.

Jace held up his hands defensively. “Fine.” He stepped back, far enough away that Alec wouldn’t bother being too quiet, but also not far enough away where he couldn’t hear what was being said.

“What?” Alec hissed into the phone. “Izzy, please tell me that this is just a really terrible joke you’re pulling. If it is, it’s not funny. At all.”

Jace furrowed his brow in concentration, trying to make out what was being said on the other end of the conversation, though it was to no avail.

“And you’re sure it’s—” Alec began. “No, I just wanted to make sure we knew what was really going on before we—" He sighed.  "Right. Of course. Isabelle, I know! I’ll be there as soon as I can. But, um. . .” Alec lowered his voice. “What are we going to tell _him_?”

Another pause. Jace’s blood was racing, as were his thoughts.  _What is going on? Something terrible must have happened. The Institute had to have been attacked or something. . ._

Alec sighed and continued speaking, breaking Jace’s mind away from the terrible scenarios he’d been thinking up. “Alright. We’re on our way,” Alec said, and he hung up the phone, handing it back to Jace gingerly. “Jace,” he said carefully, “something’s happened.” He took a breath and pressed on. “Something’s happened to Clary. We need to get back to the—” But Alec didn’t have time to finish before Jace was already running away, heading home to the Institute.

 

“Are you just going to ignore me now?” Maia asked, setting down a steaming mug of coffee on the table in front of Jordan. After Simon had left, he’d brushed off her attempts at a conversation and strode over to the couch, where he still sat now, staring blankly off into the distance. Maia sighed and sat down next to him, taking his hand in hers, though he didn’t seem to notice.

“Jordan,” she began softly, “you can’t just turn everyone away. Not me, and not Simon. I love you and I care about you, and you know Simon cares about you too.”

Jordan looked at her briefly but returned to his pointless gazing only a minute later.

“You can’t blame Simon for what happened to Nick.”

“Oh really?” said Jordan savagely, not raising his eyes again to catch Maia’s. “He made that. . . that  _monster. He_ is a monster.”

“No! Jordan, he’s your friend!”

“He’s a murderer!” Jordan exploded, leaping to his feet, his eyes glistening with anger. He’s not my friend anymore. No, he’s the reason my real friend is dead!”

Maia stood up, putting her hands on Jordan’s shoulders in an attempt to calm him down. “Hey, listen. What you’re saying right now, you don’t mean it. You know that you don’t mean all of this. Simon didn’t turn Maureen, he never meant for her to become a vampire. She’s out there, by herself, and she’s the one who killed your friend. Not Simon!  _Not Simon._ ” She repeated pointedly. “Besides, don’t you think that, if he had broken some law, the Clave would have taken notice by now?”

Jordan laughed harshly. “The Clave. Like they’d even know. The Lightwoods are just as bad as Simon is, the way they're covering for him. He should be killed. He fed on an innocent human, and she became a nightmare. And what’s worse, she’s a fourteen-year-old vampire that’s trying to take control of the Manhattan Vampire Clan. I've heard stories of her killing any vampire wh refuses her. She’s a menace, and so is her creator.”

Maia stepped back from Jordan, horrified. “No. . . Jordan, are you hearing yourself?”

“Maia, you have to admit that he wouldn’t even be alive right now if it weren’t for the fact that he’s Valentine’s daughter’s best friend plus the fact that he’s hooking up with the Lightwood girl—”

“‘The Lightwood girl’?” Maia whispered in disbelief.  “‘Valentine’s daughter’? Jordan, those are our friends. Our allies. What’s gotten into you?”

“Maybe I’m just sick of innocent people getting hurt.” said Jordan shortly.

The two of them stood silently for a moment, and then Jordan’s phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket after a moment’s hesitation and answered it. “Kyle.” He listened to the voice on the other end of the phone, and immediately his demeanor changed, his voice all business. “Praetor Scott. Yes. Of course, sir. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Jordan said briskly and ended the call.

He slipped the phone into his pocket and brushed past Maia on his way to the door, grabbing his coat off of the back of the couch as he went.

“Jordan? What’s going on? Where are you going?”

Jordan hesitated. “Praetor Scott needs me at the Praetor House. Says that he has a special job for me.”

“‘Special job’? Doing what?”

“I don’t know and I didn’t ask questions. That’s the way a pack is supposed to work, you know. You do what you're told and you don't question your alpha.”

Maia followed him over to where he now stood by the front doorway. “Can I at least come with you?”

Jordan sighed, putting a hand on Maia’s cheek. “You aren’t Praetor. I don’t think Scott would be too pleased to see you. Plus, you know,” he continued, a smile quirking up the edges of his lips as he wrapped an arm around Maia’s waist, pulling her closer. “You are  _very_  distracting. I don’t know that I’d be able to get anything done if you were there.”

Maia smiled at him, but remained silent, and Jordan planted a kiss on her forehead before releasing her. “I’ll be back soon. I promise. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Maia said wearily.

And, with that, Jordan opened the front door and left without another word.

 

“Clary?” A voice rang through the darkness. “Clary! Come on! Wake up already! You can sleep when you’re dead!” Clary’s eyes fluttered open as she slowly woke from a sleep that still beckoned her back with its enticing peace and quiet. She scanned the large bedroom until she found the source of the voice that had awoken her.  _Sebastian_ was the thought that immediately ran through her mind, though she wasn't sure why. This person's name wasn't Sebastian, it was. . .

“Jonathan?” Clary groaned, lifting up her hand to block the harsh rays of sunlight coming in through her windows.  _Where am I?_  She thought to herself.

“Good morning, little sister. Time to face the day," Jonathan said, his voice sarcastically cheery. "Or were you just planning to stay in bed all morning?”

Clary didn’t understand what he meant until she turned onto her side and saw the small clock on the bed side table.  _Of course_ , said a voice deep in her subconscious.  _This is the room you've always lived in. In Idris, with your mother and father and brother. This is the same old bed you've always had. That's the same table, the same clock. And right now, that clock is telling you that you aren't supposed to be in bed, but rather you're supposed to be. ._.

“By the Angel!” Clary gasped, throwing back the duvet and rolling quickly and clumsily out of bed. “Dad’s going to kill me this time for sure.” After all, one did not keep Valentine Morgenstern waiting, especially not one of his children. She brushed by her brother, who was already fully dressed in his training gear, on her way to her closet.

“No he won’t. You’re Father’s perfect little Angel. It’s me he’ll kill if we’re late again. So, if it's not too much of an inconvenience to you, do you think you could hurry it up a little bit?”

Clary emerged from her closet with her clothes bunched up in her arms. “Go ahead. I’ll be there in a minute. And I promise to take full responsibility for my lateness to increase your life expectancy.” Her brother grinned and she laughed, continuing. “Besides, if you weren’t around, who would I have to take the blame for everything?”

“Cute,” her brother replied.

“I normally am, you know. Now get out so I can get dressed.”

“Right.” Her brother beamed at her wickedly, picking up a stuffed rabbit off of Clary's dresser, one she'd had as a child. “I’m not really interested in watching your floor show today, or any other day for that matter. That's just creepy. But I can think of about a dozen other guys in Idris who would love tickets. Hey, why don’t you wait until lover boy gets here? Bet he’d appreciate—”

“Jace!” Clary yelled, feeling, rather than seeing, her cheeks turn bright pink. She grabbed her rabbit out of his hands and pointed at the door. “Out! Now!” She shoved her brother through the open door and then slammed it in his face.

Clary hastily changed her clothes, pulling her gear and boots on clumsily, not even bothering with the laces. She grabbed her stele off of the small table next to her bed and sprinted out her door and down the long hallway to the training room. She halted suddenly when she reached the doorway, not wanting to let her father know how rushed she'd been to get there. She took a moment to catch her breath and compose herself, and then she turned the corner and entered the room.

Her brother was already there, a weapons belt strapped on, several small daggers already sheathed in it. Her father, standing next to him, looked furious. The sight of him in full battle gear and a menacing glare directed toward her made Clary want to cringe.  _But he wouldn't hurt you, not really,_  said the voice in Clary's mind.  _He_ is _your father. . ._

"Ah," he said. "My daughter has finally decided to grace us with her presence."

"I'm sorry," she said, sounding smaller than she'd have liked. "My alarm didn't go off."

"I thought I told you to wake her up before lessons this morning, Jace?" Valentine said to the pale, green-eyed boy next to him.

"He did try to wake me up," Clary interjected. "I just stayed up too late last night and couldn't get up in time. I'm sorry. It's my fault."

"Nevertheless," Valentine replied, "your brother still should have woken you earlier. Even if it meant throwing a bucket of ice water on you."

"But, it wasn't his fault—" Clary began, only to be cut short when her father raised a hand to silence her.

"Clarissa, you must stop taking responsibility for his mistakes. How is he ever going to learn if you always try to protect him from the consequences of his actions? He does not need his little sister to do  _anything_  for him. Do you understand?"

Clary opened her mouth in protest, but her brother spoke before she could get a word out. "He's right, Clary. It was my fault. I can take care of myself. Just leave it alone." He had said the words for Valentine's benefit, she knew. His eyes were looking at her, pleading for her to let it go. But it wasn't because she was protecting him and he didn't like it. It was because  _he_  was protecting  _her_ , like he always had.  _He'll always protect you,_ the voice reminded her, returning.  _He always has. Why is that surprising you?_

His eyes shone when he looked at her, green as spring grass.

 _He has always had green eyes,_  said the voice in her head.  _People often marvel at how much alike you are, he and your mother and yourself. His name is Jonathan and he is your brother; he has always protected you._

Somewhere in the back of Clary’s mind she saw black eyes and whip marks, but she didn’t know why.  _He’s your brother. He’s your brother, and he’s always taken care of you._

"Alright," Valentine said, breaking the silence that had fallen. "Now that we're all accounted for, let's start today's training, shall we?"

 

"Well," said Luke, letting the curtains over the window of his bedroom fall closed. "Maia and Jordan are gone. The pack won't expect us to need a new security detail for at least another day, and there are no creepy crawlies outside to ruin our night. So we," he said, lying down in the bed next to Jocelyn, "have the house to ourselves for a little while."

Jocelyn beamed up at him. "I like the sound of that," she said, putting a hand on his face and pulling him in for a kiss, only drawing away momentarily to ask, “How long did you say we had again?"

Luke chuckled softly and pulled Jocelyn closer. "At least 24 hours. 24 hours of bliss and silence and no distractions—"

Luke was interrupted by a buzzing coming from Jocelyn's cell phone on the bedside table. Carefully controlled anger flashed across his features. "Tell whoever that is to kindly go to Hell. Or Australia. Whichever is more convenient."

Jocelyn smiled and shook her head at him as she reached for the phone. She squinted at the bright screen in the darkness of the bed room. "It's Clary," Jocelyn said. "Care to revise your statement?" When Luke hesitated a moment too long, Jocelyn slapped his shoulder. "Luke!" she exclaimed, laughing as she brought the phone up to her ear. "Hey, sweetheart," she said, answering. "What's up? You never call me this late. Is everything alright over there?"

"Funny you should ask, mother dearest," said the answering voice darkly.

Jocelyn sat bolt upright. "Sebastian." She felt Luke's gaze on her. She turned to look at him, the fear in his eyes no doubt reflecting the terror in her own.

"Hey,  _Mom_ ," Sebastian jeered. "I'm fine, by the way. Thanks for asking."

"Sebastian," Jocelyn repeated slowly, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. "Where's my daughter? What have you done—?"

"Oh, relax Jocelyn. Little sis is just sleeping right now. I haven't done anything to her. Yet."

"What do you want?"

"What makes you think I  _want_  anything?" Jocelyn could practically hear his arrogant smile as he spoke.

"I know you. You aren't one for the theatrics. You do what you want and only what is necessary to get what you want. You're just like your father, no matter how much you try to deny it."

"Valentine was a pathetic extremist with no idea what he was getting himself into and no idea how to get out once he did get himself into it. I am nothing like him," Sebastian said, uttering the last sentence slowly and menacingly.

"Still," Jocelyn continued, "you had to have had a reason to call or else you wouldn't have. What do you want?"

"Oh, nothing much, Mother. I just wanted to have the satisfaction of knowing that you know that I have your daughter, and that you will  _never_  see her again. She's mine now."

“Wait, Sebastian—” Jocelyn began, but her son had already hung up.

She dropped the phone from her ear and stared at it. Eventually, Luke asked, “Jocelyn? What’s going on? What’s happening?”

Jocelyn didn’t look up at her fiancée as she spoke. “He has her, Luke. Sebastian has Clary.”

 

“Clarissa,” Valentine was saying sternly, “you need to focus more. You’re either going to kill yourself with that sword or you’re going to let whatever it is you’re fighting kill you. You have to be more focused on the task at hand.”

Clary held the broadsword awkwardly in her right hand—she’d trained with swords before, but had never really been good with big weapons like the broadsword; she preferred small weapons like daggers that could be hidden many places on one’s person without the need of a clunky weapons belt or huge sheath. “I’m sorry. I’ll try harder.”

“If all you do is try, you’ll never learn. You have to practice as if it is a real situation, as if it is a real enemy, and not just your brother fighting you.” Valentine turned his back on her as he began a long tirade about focus in battle and life-and-death situations being no joke.

Clary snuck a smile at her brother during her father’s lecture, and he grinned back. The two of them both knew how to fight, but sometimes, they just weren’t motivated enough to actually try in training exercises. Today, however, their father seemed to be in a very strict mood, and so they gave each other “the look”—a look they always gave each other when they decided that they actually needed to fight in front of him. Sebastian raised an eyebrow at her.  _Think you can beat me today? Guess again,_ he seemed to be thinking. Clary, in return, gave him a look that said  _Oh, bring it on, big brother._

Valentine turned back to face his children, his harangue finally finished, and sighed. “Have you two even listened to a word I’ve said?”

Clary and Jonathan looked up at their father. “Of course we have," she replied. "Come on, Jace. Don't hold back.”

Clary’s brother smirked at her, and held his sword out in front of him, Clary mirroring him. "I never do." The two of them stood bouncing on the balls of their feet, waiting for the first move to come at any moment. Suddenly, Clary burst into action, jabbing out at Jace with the ip of her sword. He quickly deflected the blow, and the two were locked in an intense battle.

After a few blows and near-misses, Clary realized that she was getting nowhere fast fighting with the heavy sword that was almost useless to her. As she was recovering from a particularly nasty blow her brother had thrown at her in which the hilt of his blade had collided with her temple, Clary felt a sharp pain on the back of her hand as Jace’s sword sliced through her skin, making her drop her own sword. Jonathan followed this with a sharp kick to Clary’s stomach, which knocked the breath out of her, and she fell to the ground on her hands and knees. He kicked her sword away from her and held the tip of his own blade to her throat, an arrogant smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Do you concede, little sister?”

Clary finally caught her breath back, and looked up at her brother through her eyelashes. “Like Hell I concede,” she said, and she swung her feet around, knocking Jace’s feet out from under him and making him drop his sword as well. She flew over to it before he could reach it and picked it up—his was a lighter sword, almost like a rapier. Jace was already recovering, about to get back on his feet, but Clary, sword in hand, jumped him, pinning him to the ground. Her legs straddled his waist, her feet holding his arms down, and the blade at her brother’s throat, making him freeze immediately for fear that any movement might cause accidental injury. Clary smiled down at him with an equally arrogant smile as the one he’d worn before. “What was that about focusing and  _not_  getting over confident, brother?”

A loud applause rang through the room. Clary gasped and looked up to see a beautiful blond-haired boy standing before her. For some reason, the name  _Jace_  ran through her mind, though she wasn’t sure why her brother’s name had popped into her head when she laid eyes on her boyfriend, who was laughing softly to himself. “I remember teaching you that move,” he said. “Though I remember having quite a bit more fun with it.”

What happened next occurred so quickly that Clary barely even had a chance to register that it had happened at all. One minute, she was staring at the gorgeous Shadowhunter standing in the doorway of the training room, and the next, her brother had his hand over hers on the hilt of the sword, ripping it from her fingers before grabbing the back of her knee so that she fell backwards, hitting her head hard on the wooden floors. Jace jumped up to his feet and pulled Clary along with him, bending one of her arms painfully behind her back and pressing the blade uncomfortably against her neck, whispering softly into her ear. “I win. Better luck next time.”

“Alright, fine. I concede,” she said irritably, and Jace released her from his grip. “That doesn’t count, though. I would have beaten you easily if it weren’t for my idiot boyfriend distracting me,” she growled pointedly at the boy still standing in the doorway smiling smugly down at her.

“If you were focused on the task at hand,” her father chimed in, “he wouldn’t have been able to distract you.”

“Yeah, Will. You should come by more often,” said Jace, placing the sword back in its place on the wall. “Especially if it keeps her  _that_  distracted.”

“Well, if her being distracted is what my  _parabatai_ needs to defeat his little sister in training battles, then perhaps I chose my hunting partner unwisely,” Will, who had finally moved to stand next to Clary, jeered. “And, in all fairness, Clary, I did tell you to keep your feet further down on the wrists so that the person couldn’t move their arms at all.”

Clary, ignoring both her father and her brother, shook her head at Will and threw her arms around her boyfriend’s neck, pulling him down to kiss her. When she pulled away, she whispered to him softly so that neither of her family members could hear. “Even if it did mean getting beaten every time, I’d still be fine with you coming over more, you know. Though my father might have something to say about it.”

“Speaking of your father,” he muttered, and Clary heard Valentine clear his throat behind her. She jumped away from Will and attempted to wipe the smile from her face to no avail.

“Well, Mr. Herondale,” Clary’s father spoke to the boy directly, ignoring her completely. “Not that I don’t enjoy your company, and I’m sure my daughter does as well, but what might you be doing here during our training session? We weren’t expecting you until later this evening.”

“My father is downstairs. He wanted to talk to you about a rogue werewolf that was roaming around Brocelind—”

Valentine’s expression darkened. “A rogue werewolf, you say? In Brocelind Forest?”

“Yes, sir. According to my father, it can fight like a Shadowhunter. Rumor is that it used to be one. He wanted to know if you’d go hunt it down with him. You know, remind him that rogue werewolves are still against Covenant Law.”

“Is that so?” Valentine asked nervously. “Well, tell Stephen that, though I would love to, I'm not feeling quite up to a fight tonight. However,” he continued, “if he were really concerned about it, I might suggest that you and my son take this hunt yourselves.”

Jonathan walked over to stand beside Will. “Really? That’d be awesome! Our first rogue Downworlder.”

“Yeah, I’m totally up for it,” said Will excitedly.

“What about me?” Clary asked, catching her father’s attention. “I can fight pretty well too, you know. I’m sure you guys could use another—”

“No,” said Valentine shortly.

“But—” Clary began.

“No. This is their hunt, not yours, Clarissa. There’s no reason for you to go off and get yourself hurt. You’d just be a burden on them, something to take away from their focus on the job at hand. Perhaps next time you can go. Maybe you could ask Alexander or Isabelle Lightwood to go with you. Alexander can even bring along his  _parabatai_ , the Wayland boy.”

“But when’s next time going to be? I’m probably the only Shadowhunter my age who isn’t allowed to go out and hunt down rogue Downworlders, much less demons,” Clary said miserably.

“Because you aren’t ready, Clary,” her father said gently. “You and your own  _parabatai_  were almost killed the last time you went after something you weren’t ready for—”

“It’s an occupational hazard! Izzy and I were fine! The demon didn’t come anywhere near killing us!”

“You were incapacitated by demon poison for three days!”

“So what? It was just three days!”

“Clarissa, you aren’t going out this time, and that’s final. Now, your mother is going to need some help, as I’m sure Will and Stephen are going to be staying for breakfast. Go help her.”

“But—”

“Now!” Valentine whispered menacingly.

Clary set her jaw and walked away, stopping momentarily to give Will a rather long and lingering goodbye kiss, just to draw a reaction from her father. She looked back at him one last time, and then stormed out the door toward the kitchen.

As she left, she could just hear her brother’s mumbled comment. “My sister, gentlemen. I’d try not to piss her off if I were you.”

                
            Jace threw open the front door of the Institute and headed directly for Clary’s room. When he found it empty, his heart sank. He slammed the door closed behind him and ran to Isabelle’s room next, finding his sister sitting on the bed, her eyes wide and tired with worry. “Where is she?” Jace demanded, and Isabelle looked up at him, a mixture of anger, sympathy, and fear in her eyes.

“Jace—” she began in a tone that he recognized as one she normally used to try to keep him from killing something or someone. It was a voice she used to try to keep him calm. But he was having none of that tonight. “Isabelle, where is Clary?”

“I. . . I don’t know.” Isabelle admitted.

“What in the name of the Angel Raziel do you mean you don’t know? You were supposed to be watching her!”

“Jace,” said Alec, who had appeared silently in the doorway of Isabelle’s room. “It’s not Izzy’s fault. It’s all of ours.”

“What are you talking about?”

Alec glanced at Isabelle, as if silently asking her if he was allowed to tell Jace the truth. Isabelle nodded to him. “We shouldn’t have kept it from him in the first place, Alec. Tell him.”

“So let me get this straight,” Jace said, after listening to Alec and Isabelle explain how it was possible for Clary to go missing when she wasn’t even supposed to leave the Institute alone. “You let Clary talk you two into one of her idiotic plans and something went wrong? Well, doesn’t that sound familiar?”

“Jace, we didn’t think she was in any immediate danger!” Isabelle defended. “We haven’t heard from Sebastian in almost a month. We figured he was out there getting his apocalypse ready. You said yourself that you didn’t think he’d come after her until he was ready, and we’ve seen no signs at all that seem to indicate that he’s anywhere near ready for the end of the world. Hell, we don’t even know it’s Sebastian yet, Jace! Clary could have just gotten lost or stayed out later or something.”

“Clary’s lived in New York for the grand majority of her life,” Jace said. “I’m pretty sure she didn’t get  _lost_. And, besides, why wouldn’t she at least call to tell you she’d be a little late? Isabelle, something is  _wrong_. I can feel it.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s Sebastian!” Isabelle’s phone buzzed in her pocket, and she pulled it out, staring at the screen. “But that might be the least of our problems,” she said hollowly.

“Why?” asked Alec, finally contributing to the conversation. “What’s wrong?”

“Did either of you tell Jocelyn about Clary?” Isabelle asked.

“Of course not,” Alec responded incredulously. “Why would we do that? We should really be picking our battles carefully right now, and that’s not a battle that we can really afford at the moment.”

“Well, you’d better find a way to deal with her soon. Mom just text me from the Library. Jocelyn just showed up, and Mom says she’s screaming her head off about something, and that she wants to talk to us.”

“Well then,” said Jace after a moment's hesitation, his jaw set. “Let’s not keep her waiting.”

Alec grabbed Jace’s shoulder as the latter was turning to walk back through the door. “Are you crazy? She’s going to kill you!”

“And she’d be justified. Look, I swore to her that I would protect her daughter. Now I have to face the music.”

“It’s not your fault though!” said Isabelle.

“Clary was my responsibility. It’s all  _my_  fault.”

“At least let us take part of the blame.”

“You can try to take it all if you wanted to. Jocelyn won’t let you. I’m the one that swore on the Angel. Maryse, Robert, and I are the ones that Jocelyn made swear to protect her. Jocelyn thinks I'm to blame for everything that's happened to her daughter since we met at Pandemonium. And she's right.”

 

Jace, Alec and Isabelle all walked through the door to the Institute’s massive library. Immediately, Jocelyn ran up to Jace, screaming at him, tears shining in her eyes, though none had fallen yet. “Where is my daughter?”

“Jocelyn—” Isabelle began, but Clary’s mother interrupted her.

“I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to him!” Jocelyn yelled, hitting Jace hard on the arm. Jace stood there, letting her hit him and yell at him, completely unfazed by it. “You promised me you were going to protect her! You swore on the Angel that nothing would happen to her here!” Jocelyn hit him again, repeatedly, before finally breaking down in tears, collapsing and falling to her knees. Jace, holding her arms, slid down beside her and held her.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Jocelyn,” Alec ventured carefully, “how did you find out?”

“Sebastian called her.” Maryse Lightwood, who was standing behind the large desk that had once belonged to their tutor, Hodge Starkweather, had her arms crossed over her chest in disapproval. Her husband, Robert, was nowhere to be seen. “When she came here, I told her that it was impossible, that the Institute had special wards put up to prevent her son from entering here, and so there was no possible way anything like this could have happened. So, imagine my shock when I find that, not only was Clary not in the Institute, but my children both helped her get out without my or Jace’s noticing.”

“Mother, I’m sorry," Alec said grimly. "This wasn’t supposed to happen—”

“Nevertheless, it has. I am very disappointed in you, Alexander. I’d expect such ridiculous ventures from your sister, but never from you.”

“It wasn’t Alec’s fault, Mom,” Isabelle said, finally speaking up. “I asked him to do this as a favor to me. I told him it would get his mind off of Magnus for a little while. It’s not his fault this happened. It’s not any of our faults. We never thought Sebastian would do this.”

Jace watched as events between his adopted family unfolded, but then returned his attention to Jocelyn, who, looking more broken and frail than he’d ever seen her, was shaking frantically. “Jocelyn,” Jace coaxed gently. “We need you to tell us exactly what Sebastian told you. If you can remember anything—”

“I remember my demon child telling me that he has my daughter and that he never intends on letting her go,” Jocelyn was able to whisper before the sobs overtook her body again.

“Maryse,” Jace said darkly, “will you watch her for a second?” Maryse nodded and Jace disentangled himself from Jocelyn’s pale arms. “Alec, Isabelle, come with me. We need to talk.” And, without another word, Jace walked out of the Library, waiting in the hallway for his brother and sister. When Isabelle came out, followed by Alec, and shut the door softly behind them, Jace immediately began speaking. “We need to find Sebastian. Now.”

“Jace, the Clave has been trying to track him down for months. What makes you think they’ll be able to do it any faster now that he has Clary?”

“I didn’t say that the Clave needed to find him. I said that  _we_  do. I’m done waiting for them. I spent almost a month with Sebastian, I know a lot of his tricks. We can find him without their help, and we’re going to.”

“We shouldn’t,” protested Isabelle. “The Clave has a plan.”

“The Clave has the collective intelligence of a pineapple,” said Jace.

Alec blinked up at them. “Jace is right.”

Isabelle turned on her brother. “What do  _you_  know? You weren’t even paying attention.”

“I was,” Alec said, injured. “I said Jace was right.”

“Yeah, but there’s like a 90% chance of me being right most of the time, so that’s not proof you were listening,” said Jace. “That’s just a good guess.”

"Even if we did do this," Isabelle continued, "where would we even start? Jace, we have no more cards to play."

"I might have one. . ." Jace muttered, more to himself than to the others. He turned around and walked down the hallway of the Institute in the direction of the elevator that led to the cathedral where the front door was located.

"Jace!" Alec called after him.

"Jace, where are you going?" Izzy yelled.

"Out for a bit. Don't wait up, alright? And tell Maryse and Robert not to worry. I'm going to figure this out." Jace paused and turned around to look back at them. " _I have_  to figure this out. I swore on the Angel. I'm going to keep that promise." He turned back around and walked swiftly away, not turning back again.


	7. Chapter 4: Decisions and Revelations

Jordan jumped down out of his truck, slamming the door behind him. The darkness around him made this abandoned warehouse near the East River even more eerie than he had imagined when Praetor Scott had called and arranged the meeting. He'd hated lying to Maia about where he was going, but he knew that if the alpha of his pack had told him to meet him someplace secret, that had to include keeping it from his girlfriend too. He looked around, peering through the blackness, wondering if the older werewolf had already arrived.

"Hello, Praetor Kyle," spoke a voice from behind Jordan. He spun around and saw the outline of a man, dressed in a well-tailored suit and silk tie, his hair graying.

"Praetor Scott?" Jordan asked. "What's going on? Why did you ask me to meet here? Why not at the Praetor House?"

"Because," replied Scott, "this is a conversation I wish to keep private, just between you and me."

"When you called, you said that you had a job for me? You said it was urgent."

"Yes. A very urgent and very important job for you."

"A job so secret you can't even talk about it at the Praetor House?"

Jordan could just make out the features on Scott's face as he grinned slightly. "Come with me to my office and I'll explain everything."

The leader of the Praetor Lupus turned on his heel and strode off into the darkness, Jordan following closely so that he would't get lost. Eventually, the two of them turned a corner, and the path was blocked by a door, the lock for which Praetor Scott quickly produced a key. He pushed the door open to reveal a surprisingly modern looking office, complete with a large mahogany desk and all the lush furnishings of a rich doctor or lawyer's office. "This is my workspace," he explained. "That is, when I don't want my work to come under scrutiny by any. . . unsavory parties, you might say."

"You're worried that there are spies in the Praetor Lupus?" Jordan asked disbelievingly.

"Spies?" The older man laughed shortly, walking over to sit in a leather chair behind the desk. "No, of course not. I trust those people with my life. It's just that one can never be too careful when discussing certain matters, such as the ones I am about to discuss with you. Please," he continued, indicating a chair across the desk from his, "have a seat."

Jordan sat down, eyeing the alpha wolf cautiously. "And what, if you don't mind my asking sir, is it you wish to discuss with me?"

"You are aware that your assignment, Simon Lewis, created a fledgling vampire that is now the leader of the Manhattan Vampire Clan?" Scott had said it plainly, as a simple question, but to Jordan, it felt like an accusation. It felt like a placement of blame on him for not being able to better control his assignment.

Jordan nodded. "Maureen. Yes, I know she's trying to assume command of the other vampires in the clan."

"And you are also aware, I know, that this vampire later killed the Praetor agent we sent to watch her? Your former roommate, am I correct?"

Jordan swallowed against a lump in his throat that was making it hard to breathe. "Yes," he replied hoarsely. "What about it?"

"That girl has to be handled. She is outside of the Covenant law and I intend to make sure she is held to the due punishments of her actions. My problem is that the Shadowhunters of the Lightwood Institute won't persecute her for fear that it will reflect badly upon them. But, I have a feeling there is more to this than just Isabelle Lightwood dating the vampire that created this menace. I think the Lightwoods are turning against the Clave. I think Maryse and Robert Lightwood are returning to their old ways from the time of the Circle. And now, with Valentine's daughter and the boy Valentine raised as his own son living under the Institute's roof, they have opportunity. Do you think they won't take it? Do you think they'll continue to fight against Valentine's real son? Do you think they have the strength to keep brother and sister away from each other?"

"What are you saying? That the Lightwoods are  _helping_  Sebastian?" Jordan asked incredulously.

"I'm not saying that, no. I am merely expressing my concern at the possibility."

"There's not a chance that's true! The Lightwoods may be covering for Simon, but they wouldn't help Sebastian. As for keeping brother from sister, Clary  _hates_  her brother. She'd be first in line to kill him if it were up to her."

"But you aren't sure." Praetor Scott leaned forward. "You aren't, are you? You know as well as I do that these people can't be trusted. They're a threat to all of us."

"No. . ." Jordan began but trailed off. "Sir, why are you telling me this? If you really thought they were a danger, why are you wasting time with me? Why haven't you gone to the Clave about this?"

"Without actual evidence?" Scott scoffed at the thought. "The Clave would laugh in my face. No, I need to catch them doing something. Something that will be proof enough to the Clave that the people of the Lightwood Institute can not be trusted, that they are no more our allies than the mother of all demons herself. And that's where you come in."

"You want me to spy on them," said Jordan; it wasn't even a question, only a bland statement.

"I'm not sure if 'spy' is the correct term, but if that's what you want to call it, then yes. I want you to keep an eye on them. Bring me something that will prove to the Clave that the Lightwoods are not fit to take care of this problem, or any other they may be faced with."

"The Lightwoods aren't working with Sebastian, and they sure as Hell aren't going against the Clave."

"I just thought perhaps you'd want to know for sure. Instead you side with them. What would Praetor Smith think if he heard you now? That you are willing to ignore his sacrifice and the Praetor, your only true family, for these people you barely even know?"

"Don't bring him into this!" Jordan roared, jumping up from his chair. "This has nothing to do with Nick."

"Doesn't it? Why did you come today, Jordan?" Scott replied plainly, his voice remaining calm. "You had to have thought something of the fact that I was asking you to meet me in secrecy."

"I didn't know what you wanted," said Jordan, the fury in his voice audibly growing stronger.

"Perhaps you didn't know why, but you were hoping. You were hoping that we'd finally found you a reason to take down your assignment."

"That's not true—"

"So is it also not true that the two of you have been fighting lately? Didn't you, just today, admit to Maia Roberts that you think that Simon is just as much a monster as Maureen is? That is is just as repsonsible for Nick's death?"

Jordan stared at Scott, a horrified expression blanketing his face. "How did you know that?"

"We have eyes and ears everywhere, Praetor Kyle. You shouldn't be surprised. " The alpha wolf leaned in closely and continued. "Let go of this moral dilemma you're putting yourself in and trust your instincts; the best wolves shut down their minds during a hunt and rely solely on instincts to gide them. Help me, and help yourself. Help me bring down the Lightwoods and their cohorts. And then, your friend will not have died in vain. So," the older werewolf whispered, staring intently into Jordan's eyes, "can I trust you with this mission, Praetor Kyle? Have you made a decision?"

Jordan cast his glance down at his feet, several different ideas streaming through his subconscious as he thought. Finally, he raised his gaze to look through his eyelashes at Praetor Scott. "Yes," he replied. "I've made a decision."

 

“I don’t get him at all,” Clary was saying irritably. “We train and we train, every single day. He  _knows_  how good I am. But every time a hunt comes around, I can’t go because. . . Well, I don't know. I guess he just hates me."

Jocelyn put her hand on Clary’s arm briefly. “Clary, sweetheart, he doesn’t hate you. He just thinks he's protecting you.”

Jocelyn was bustling about the kitchen, cooking breakfast for her family like she did for every morning, before she took over her children’s lessons in demonology and history.  _She does this every morning,_  the voice in Clary’s head said.  _So why does it seem so foreign to you?_

“I know,” Clary continued, still leaning against the counter, staying out of her mother’s way—Jocelyn Morgenstern might be a domestic Shadowhunter wife that did housework, but that didn’t mean her daughter had to be as well. “But there’s such a thing as  _over_ protection. He treats me like I’m some kind of rare porcelain doll and he’s afraid I’ll break. I’m a Shadowhunter. Part of the job is danger and sacrifice and actually  _hunting_. I don’t know what he wants from me.”

“He wants,” her mother replied gently, “for you to be safe.”

“It seems like he’s more worried about Izzy than he is about me. He’s always talking about how I put my  _parabatai_  at risk and don’t think about what would happen if one of us died, you know?” Clary bit her lip, unsure as to whether or not she should ask her mother the question on her mind. “Mom?” she began hesitantly. “What happened to Dad’s  _parabatai_?”

Jocelyn froze as she was setting the tableas if the words had physically stunned her, and she turned to look at Clary as she slid slowly down into one of the high-backed chairs surrounding the large oak dining table. “Why would you ask me something like that?”

“It’s just that Dad’s so protective of  _parabatai_. And I’ve seen the way he looks at Jace and Will when he thinks no one’s looking; he looks sad, like he’s missing someone. He never talks about his  _parabatai_  and I’ve never met him, so I’m just guessing that he’s dead. But. . . What happened to him to make Dad so intent on me protecting my  _parabatai_ and me so closely?”

Jocelyn shook her head and stood up, picking up where she had left off in setting the table. “Clarissa, what happened with your father’s  _parabatai_ , it was. . . It’s complicated. And I’m sure it’s not the reason he’s not allowing you to go on this hunt.”

“Oh, really? Why else would he keep me out of one of the easiest hunts I’d ever go on. It’s just one rogue werewolf in Brocelind. I could take care—” The rest of Clary’s complaint was arrested by a sharp noise that cut through the kitchen. Jocelyn stood unmoving, her eyes fixed on Clary, a broken glass at her feet.

“Mrs. Morgenstern?” said a worried voice in the doorway, and Clary turned to see Will, who was looking concernedly at her mother. “Are you alright?”

Jocelyn broke her gaze from Clary to look at Will. She shook her head after a few seconds and laughed lightly and unconvincingly. “Yes,” she said. “Of course. I’m just clumsy, you know. It’s getting worse with old age.” She smiled reassuringly and bent down to pick up the sharp glass shards.

“Here, let me help you.” Will said, rushing to kneel next to her and picking up the dangerous pieces of glass that could easily have been used as daggers.

Jocelyn beamed at him and stood up, a few of the smaller shards in her hand. “Thank you. A gentleman, just like your father, Will. He raised you well.”

Will’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment, and he hid his face as he carefully dropped the pieces of broken glass into the trash bin. “That’s actually why I came down. Where has my father disappeared to?”

“He went outside when I came down,” Clary supplied helpfully. “He was afraid he was getting in the way.”

Will nodded at her and smiled. “Thanks,” he replied, leaning down to kiss her lightly on the forehead before turning to leave. "I'll see you later. You too, Mrs. M." He stopped at the French doors leading out into the gardens and turned back unexpectedly to face Jocelyn. “Oh, and Mrs. M? Just remember—you can’t blame old age just yet. You’re still young and beautiful. Just like your daughter.” He moved his glance to Clary and gave his girlfriend a charming smile before opening the doors and disappearing through them.

Clary smirked after him, beaming like an idiot while Jocelyn retrieved another glass from the cabinet and continued her work. “You know,” her mother said thoughtfully, “I like that boy. He’s polite and funny and sweet. I can see why you care about him so much.”

Clary looked at her mother, a hint of annoyance tingeing her voice as she spoke. “So, I guess you’re just going to ignore what just happened?”

“What are you _talking_  about?”

“I’m talking about you freaking out when I mentioned the hunt I wanted to go on. Is something wrong, Mom? I mean, you’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

“Of course. I mean, no, nothing’s wrong and I would definitely tell you anything you needed to know.”

“‘Anything I needed to know?’” Clary replied incredulously. “That’s not the same thing, Mom—”

“Just drop it, Clary. Please.”

“No, Mom, now I  _know_ there’s something going on. Why won’t you just tell me—?”

“Clarissa,” her mother snapped, sounding tired and irritated and even afraid all at the same time, “that’s enough. We aren’t talking about this anymore. Go get your father and the others, will you? Tell them breakfast is ready. Please,” she added, seeing her daughter's stubborn look.

Clary hesitated, and then nodded reluctantly, heading to do as she was told. Before she left, though, she paused and snuck a glance back at Jocelyn. Her mother stood, leaning on the table as if she could barely support her own weight, with one hand over her heart. Clary didn’t know what was bothering her, but she’d now made it her own personal mission to find out.

 

Simon sat on the park bench, which was already half covered in the new-fallen snow that still fell softly around him. He didn’t know how long he’d been waiting there, but he didn’t mind. His friendship with Jordan had been rocky as of late, to say the least, and he wasn’t in a hurry to get home. The park was quiet and peaceful at night, the mundanes having left at the onset of dusk. He heard footsteps approaching, but he didn’t have to look up to know who it was. He’d been waiting here all day for her to finally show up, and he’d been talking to her enough lately to know the sound of her heart beating apart from anyone else’s.

“Simon?” the girl’s voice said, and Simon looked up into his sister’s eyes.

“You came. I was beginning to worry you were going to bail on me.”

“It’s like you don’t know me at all.” Rebecca smiled and sat down on the bench next to her brother after having already dusted some of the snow off. “Sorry it took me so long to get here. I’ve been staying with Mom the past few weeks. I told her I was coming to see you and she freaked. I had to wait until she fell asleep before I snuck out.”

“So she still hates me?" he replied blandly. Rebecca looked a him sympathetically and he shrugget it off. "I’m not surprised. I guess I understand where she’s coming from.”

Rebecca ignored this comment and shivered. “Jeez, it’s freezing, Si. How long have you been out here?”

“Since noon,” he replied, staring forward at a tree, completely devoid of leaves, that stood out like a ghostly silhouette against the white snow. “Maybe a bit before that.”

“But aren’t you cold?”

Simon laughed harshly. Normally, with the weather this cold, he should have been able to see his breath. But that had changed when he’d become a vampire, like so many other things had changed. “Don’t really get cold anymore, Becks. Don’t really _feel_  much of anything. I guess I really am the monster Mom thinks I am. Cold and heartless; unable to feel.”

“Simon,” Rebecca said, placing a hand on his shoulder, “she just doesn’t understand what’s happened.”

“And she never will,” Simon replied, bringing his gaze up to meet his sister’s, his eyes pleading for her to understand. “She won’t listen to me, she won’t listen to Clary. She won’t even listen to you. I’ve been hearing people say she’s getting worse. People at school. . .”

Simon’s sister nodded reluctantly. “She keeps trying to tell everyone that her son is dead, and people keep telling her that it’s not possible, that they see you on the streets all the time. They think she’s just finally lost it, with all the stress from Dad and you about to leave for college, and me already gone. They think she’s just losing her mind.”

“But she’s not,” Simon said despairingly, dropping his eyes to the snow covered ground. “Her son really is dead.”

“Simon. . .”

He raised his eyes once more to look at her, tears stinging behind them, sprouting from the mixture of anger and disappointment and even self-hatred that was bubbling up inside of him. “The son she knew died, Rebecca. I can never be a normal person again. I’m never going to age, I’m never going to be able to do anything with either of you. I can’t just go out to dinner with you or go to a baseball game with you, with thousands of mundanes just walking around like human blood bags. And I’m going to have to watch everyone I love die, and now, I’m going to have to do it without my mother ever knowing how much I loved her.”

A silence fell between them, as neither of them knew what to say, or even if there should be any words spoken at all. It was Rebecca who finally broke the silence, her voice soft and cautious. “Can’t you make her forget?”

Simon looked up at her like she was insane. “What?”

“I remember you saying that, at one point, you’d made her forget everything. About the blood and you being a vampire. Couldn’t you do it again?”

“No. I mean, I  _want_  to. I want to more than anything in the world, but I don’t have the strength. I’m living off old animal blood. Maybe if I had a healthy supply of human blood in my system, but—”

“You don’t want do it?”

“Of course I do!” Simon exclaimed exasperatedly. “I just. . . What would I tell her anyway? That I’m normal? That I’m just another teenager? How long would that last?”

“Then don’t tell her something like that.”

“What would  _you_  have me say, Becky? Please, just tell me what I’m supposed to do here.”

Rebecca cast her eyes downward and muttered under her breath. “Make her think you’re gone.”

“What?” Simon asked, though he had heard her very clearly.

Simon’s sister lifted her gaze back to his face, biting her lip nervously. “Make her think you’re gone. That you’ve run away or that you’re going to college early or something. Make her think that your band is actually making it big and going somewhere. Tell her something that will make her not worry about you coming home. And then just disappear.”

Simon was taken aback. “Becks. . .” he whispered, trailing off.

“Look, Simon, you know I don’t want you to leave. But. . . Mom’s not going to get any better. And, you can still send her letters and call her but. . . But you can’t stay here. Not for much longer.”

Simon’s heart sank inside his chest. He knew that what Rebecca was saying was true, and that it was only for the best, but something in his heart made him want to hold on to the idea that he and his mother could still be a happy family, if only just once more in his life. He sighed and put his head in his hands. “You’re right,” he mumbled against his fingers. “It’s what I have to do.”

Before he could ask his sister how they planned on accomplishing this—after all, his mother wouldn’t even open the door of their apartment to him, and it wasn’t like he could open it for himself with all of the religious relics drawn everywhere—when the phone in his pocket vibrated. He pulled it out, looking down at the screen and squinting at its brightness in the otherwise pitch black park. It was a message from Isabelle.  _911,_ it read.  _Really need to talk to you. Meet at the Sanctuary._

“Simon?” he heard Rebecca say, her voice worried.

He looked at her as he stood up. “It’s an emergency. I have to go.” Rebecca nodded, and looked at her feet. He hesitated before taking one of her hands in his. “We’ll talk about this later. I promise.”

 

Clary strode into the room, followed by her brother and father, having already brought Stephen and Will in from the gardens. Will, she remembered, had looked very pale when she’d found him, like he’d seen a ghost. Now, he sat at the table by his father, looking rather greenish. She wondered what on Earth could have been bothering him so badly, and she silently reminded herself to ask him later.

“Valentine,” Clary heard her mother say tightly and looked up to see Jocelyn standing before them, arms crossed over her chest. “Can I speak to you for a moment please?”

Clary looked up to see her father’s reaction—he obviously had no idea what this was about either. “Of course,” he said, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion. He turned to the rest of us. “Why don’t you lot start without us? We’ll only be a moment.” He smiled reassuringly at all of us, before following my mother’s lead out the door into the hallway. Clary sat down in a chair beside Will, and Jace on either side of her.

“What do you think that was about?” Clary asked, honestly curious.

Jonathan shrugged. “Why do you care? It’s none of your business. Besides, they’re probably just out there making out or something.” He laughed and Clary rolled her eyes at him. “What do you think, Will?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Will joked, though it was clear his heart wasn’t entirely in it. “Yeah, that’s probably it.”

“So,” Stephen interjected, “it seems you boys are going on a hunt later.”

Only a moment later, Stephen, Will, and Jonathan were bickering over the best way to kill a werewolf without letting it hurt you in the process. Clary was about to interrupt, suggesting that she could kill one faster than the three of them combined, when another conversation caught her attention. The voices were muffled, but she definitely recognized them as her parents’.

“. . .know it’s Lucian,” Jocelyn was saying. “How could you send your own son—?”

“It’s just a hunt, Jocelyn,” Valentine coaxed. “Nothing more. You’re making too much of all of this.”

“No, there is so much more to this than just a  _hunt,_ Valentine. This is you being too much of a coward to face your past—”

“Keep your voice down,” Clary’s father whispered dangerously. “And don’t you dare call me a coward.”

“Then don’t lie to me! Or yourself, for that matter.”

“That is enough! This conversation is over.”

“Why you aren’t beyond using our son to finish what you started, I will never understand. But the way you are treating your daughter—”

“Don’t tell me how to be a father, Jocelyn.”

“I’m just worried. If you keep her too sheltered, she’s going to end up on a hunt one of these days, one you put her on or otherwise, and she’s going to get herself killed. You have to let her breathe, Valentine, and you have to let her be the Shadowhunter she was born to be.”

Clary shook her head, turning her attention back to the events going on at the table. Will looked up, his gaze scrutinizing her face. “Clary? Are you alright?”

“What?” she asked, barely even grasping his words. She shook her head again and sighed, plastering a smile on her face. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just tired, I guess.”

“How on Earth can you be tired?” Jace chimed in, teasing. “You slept longer than any of us.”

She smiled sweetly at him. “Yes, but unlike you, I actually need my beauty sleep. It’s entirely wasted on you.”

“Why? Because I am so stunningly attractive that no amount of beauty can even possibly be added to my magnificent self?”

“I was thinking more along the lines that you’re a lost cause at this point, and beauty sleep will do you about as much good as it will a dead tree.”

“Ah, my children,” said Valentine, returning to the table with Jocelyn following closely behind. “Always so mild mannered.”

 

“Magnus!” Jace yelled into the microphone of the intercom system at the High Warlock of Brooklyn’s apartment. “Magnus, open the door! We need to talk!”

“Go away!” replied the staticy voice in the speaker. “I’m not interested in playing your toy warlock tonight, Herondale!”

“My name is Lightwood, and I need your help!” When there was no answer, Jace kicked against the front door. He was sure that if he wasn’t glamoured, mundane passerby might have called the police. “Name of the Angel, Magnus, I will break this door down.”

“That’s cute,” Magnus answered. “You think I don’t have wardings up to prevent such silly things.”

“I don’t care if you do. I’ll just burn down the whole building until you come out.”

Another bout of silence. “Magnus, I am not joking about this! It’s Clary! Look, Sebastian has her and I need your help!”

At first, Jace thought that maybe Magnus was just ignoring him. He ran his fingers through his hair anxiously. He didn’t have a backup plan. He knew Magnus could help, but he needed the warlock’s cooperation before he could get anything. He was about to turn back and return, defeated, to the Institute when he heard the lock on the front door of the apartment building unlock, and heard the door open. He looked up at Magnus, standing in the doorway in a glittery purple bathrobe and unicorn slippers. “What did you say?” Magnus asked.

Jace’s heart raced in his chest. “It’s Sebastian. He grabbed Clary today. I need to find her, Magnus, and I know you can help me.”

Magnus studied the Shadowhunter in front of him, as if judging his sincerity. Finally, he moved aside and opened the door wide enough for Jace to enter. “I guess you’d better come in then.”

Jace nodded and brushed past the warlock, making his way up the stairs to Magnus’s second floor apartment.

Jace walked into the apartment and waited for Magnus to follow. He watched as the warlock bent down, picked up Chairman Meow, and carried the cat over to where he sat down on the sofa. He gestured for Jace to sit, but Jace, having no patience left in his body, snapped at him.

“Look, I’m not here to chit chat. You may not have heard me before, but my girlfriend has been kidnapped by her psycho brother who is obsessed with her. I need you to help me bring her back.”

“What makes you think that I am any more capable tracking Sebastian today than I was when you were missing and Clary was in the same position you’re in now? I can’t track between the worlds, Jace. And even if I could, it’s not like you could afford me. My rates are pretty high these days.”

“Let me make this perfectly clear, Bane,” Jace said menacingly. “This has nothing to do with you and Alec. Just because you’re too scared to fess up about whatever it is you don’t want him to know—”

Magnus narrowed his eyes at him. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, Shadowhunter.”

“I know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Oh, really? Then please, explain it to me. Explain to me what I am so desperately missing here.”

“I think,” Jace said, “that you don’t want to tell your secrets, so you decided to break up with Alec because you’re afraid he’s going to find out something he was never supposed to. Something that would make him leave you. I mean, that’s what you were really afraid of when he was visiting Camille, wasn’t it? She knew things about your past that Alec just shouldn’t find out. That’s why you broke up with him; a preemptive strike because you thought he’d eventually leave you anyway.”

“Jace,” Magnus began darkly. “Leave it alone.”

“No. I won’t. I  _can’t_  because this whole thing is ruining Alec’s life. You can’t even imagine how miserable he’s become. It’s almost pathetic.”

Magnus rolled onto his back and put his feet up on the arm of the sofa. “What do you care if Alec’s miserable?”

“What do I  _care_?” Jace said, so loudly that Chairman Meow rolled off the couch and landed on the floor. “Of course I care about Alec; he’s my best friend, my  _parabatai._  And he’s unhappy. And so are you, by the looks of things. Takeout containers everywhere, you haven’t done a thing to fix up the place, your cat looks dead—”

“He’s not dead.”

“That’s not the point, Magnus! You obviously love him and you obviously miss him. So why don’t you two just kiss and make up already?”

“Because,” Magnus growled irritably, “there’s so much more to it than that.” Magnus rolled over and stood up swiftly from the couch. “There are things you don’t understand, things about me and my past that you don’t know, things that are probably beyond the realm of your _imagination_  when it comes to me.”

“Are you talking about your father, Magnus?” Magnus froze and glared at Jace, who continued. “I know what Alec told me about the night you broke up with him. He told me about the witchlight. He told me that Camille had said that your father was a prince of Hell. Look, I do not have time to argue with you about this or for you to deny any of it—”

“And if I do?”

“Then you’re just being selfish by keeping it to yourself. Don’t pretend like you don’t know your father could be just the person we need for this.” Magnus scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Magnus, think about it for a minute. Sebastian has her. When he had me, I wasn’t that huge of a threat. Even if I had drunk from the Infernal Cup, I would have just been another one of his Dark Shadowhunters. But, with Clary, she’s something different. Her abilities, in the hands of a Dark Shadowhunter that’s loyal to Sebastian is the Clave’s worst nightmare! She can create any rune he wants or needs, and she’d do it without hesitation. I wasn’t a priority when I was with Sebastian, Magnus. But Clary is. For so many reasons.”

Magnus stared at Jace for a moment, his mind seeming to work through all of the different possibilities. Finally, he let out a long sigh and closed his eyes. “There was something,” he said uneasily, “that I wasn’t willing to try for you. No offense, but your death wouldn’t be the end of the world. Clary’s capture, however, very well  _may_  lead to the Apocalypse.” Magnus’s eyes opened and fixed themselves on a place on his wall. “Call Alec and the others. I want them all to be here. I’ll  _need_  them all to be here. Even the Daylighter. Call them and get them here.” He slowly turned to lock his gaze on Jace. “I think it’s time I tell you all learn a little something about my family.”

 

“Iz?” Isabelle heard Simon call out in the darkness of the Sanctuary “What’s going on? What was the ‘911’ for?”

“Simon,” she said softly, stepping out from behind a column she’d been standing behind while awaiting Simon’s arrival.

“Isabelle,” he rushed to her side, his hands reaching out for hers. “What’s wrong?”

“Clary,” she said, cringing as her voice cracked. She cleared it and continued. “Sebastian took her.” Simon’s eyes were wide, but, for some reason, it didn’t seem to Isabelle that Clary was the one he was most worried about. “Simon, I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Simon said, pulling her into a gentle embrace. “It’s not your fault. Trust me. When Clary wants to do something, there’s not a power in this world that can stop her. If you hadn’t helped her, she would have found someone else, or worse gone by herself. She can be a stubborn little brat sometimes.”

Isabelle laughed at this. It was one of the many things she loved about Simon. He always had the ability to make her laugh in the direst of situations.

“Where are Jace and the others?” Simon asked.

“Alec and Mom are in the library. Sebastian called Jocelyn just to screw with her, the creep. They’ve been trying to calm her down since she showed up. My dad? Who knows where he is anymore. He's always getting calls from Idris and having to go off somewhere else. It's been like that ever since he came home from Idris. Jace. . . Well, I don’t know what Jace is doing. He's probably doing something against the law, or planning to do something against the law. At this point, I really don’t care. The Clave is too slow and too inefficient. Sebastian has to be stopped once and for all. Jace texted a little while ago saying that he’s working on something and that he’ll call us when he has a reason to. And I thought that I should probably be the one to tell you, because I was pretty sure Jocelyn and Jace wouldn’t have bothered to call.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about, Iz,” Simon said, wrapping his arms around her waist. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly. “And I am so sick of just sitting around and talking about it. Would you mind helping me? I want to do something, anything, to distract me from what’s going on.”

“Of course.” Simon replied. “Anything you need.”

Isabelle smiled a devilish grin. “I was hoping you’d say something like that.” She leaned forward, wrapping her fingers in the material of his shirt, and kissed him. When he pulled her closer, pressing their bodies together and deepening the kiss, however, she pushed him away slightly, looking into his eyes. “Wait,” she said huskily. “I want to try something.”

Simon cocked his head to the side in confusion. “Like what?”

“Just close your eyes. It’s a surprise.”

Simon hesitated before finally indulging her. She took his hands and slowly led him through the Sanctuary. “Isabelle,” he said. “Where are you taking me?”

She smiled to herself. “You’ll see.” Simon shook his head, but let her keep leading.

 

After a moment, Isabelle’s hand left Simon’s and he paused. “Iz? Where’d you go? Can I open my eyes now?”

“No,” said Isabelle’s voice, a little ways away from him. “Just wait there.”

Simon listened intently, but his vampire senses were no match for the fresh soundless rune Isabelle had no doubt drawn on herself. A minute or two later, Isabelle’s hand returned, and she was leading him again. She walked a few steps and seemed to hesitate for a moment before continuing forward. Simon felt as the cool chill of the Sanctuary fell away, replaced by a much warmer setting. Isabelle’s hands left his again, and again, only for a moment, and then she was back. Except this time she wasn’t moving. “Alright,” she said, her voice sounding inexplicably exhilarated. “Open your eyes, Daylighter.”

Simon did as he was told and squinted his eyes as he realized that the darkness of the Sanctuary had been replaced by a brightly lit hall, with what seemed like witchlight rune stones adorning torches hung up on the wall.  _Wait,_  he thought to himself.  _I’ve seen this before. But that can’t be. . ._  He shook his head and dropped his gaze to Isabelle. “Where am I?”

“I think you already know, don’t you?” she answered, beaming.

“I mean, this looks just like the Institute but. . .” Upon seeing Isabelle's smile widen, he trailed off. “The Institute? Isabelle, am I standing in the Institute?” Seemingly unable to speak, Isabelle just nodded. “But. . . How?”

"Clary told us all about Glorius, about how you were able to say the name of God. I think she's right. She kept saying that you aren't damned because you don't believe it and I thought, just maybe, if you could say the  _name_  of God. . ."

"Then maybe I could step onto consecrated ground; into a  _house_  of God," Simon finished for her, laughing in awe. “Isabelle, you’re a genius!”

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard, leaning her against the stone wall. The two of them felt along the wall as they kissed, looking for a doorknob to a bedroom, any bedroom. At last they found one, and the door fell open behind Izzy, almost causing her to fall back. Simon, however, was there with his quick vampire reflexes. He picked her up, one arm under her knees and the other supporting her shoulders, and he carried her over to the bed, kicking the door haphazardly closed behind him. Within seconds, both of them had lost their shirts, and Simon’s hand was at the hem of Isabelle’s tank top, pushing it up slowly as they kissed. Neither of them noticed the sound of the door opening.

“By the Angel! Simon? Isabelle!” said a voice from the doorway. Simon jumped up to see Alec standing next to the now-open door, his face thoroughly flushed.

Isabelle tugged her tank top back down and glared at her brother. “You don’t knock now?”

“It’s my bedroom!” Alec sputtered.

Simon and Isabelle took this moment to look around at the room they had intruded on. They saw weapons and weapons belts and clothes thrown everywhere, a bow and a quiver of arrows leaning against the nightstand, and, on the floor, was a broken picture frame with a photo of Magnus and Alec together on one of their romantic getaways. Isabelle looked up at her older brother. “Oops?” she hazarded.

“What in the name of the Angel are you doing in here? And  _how_ in the name of the Angel is the  _Daylighter_ in the  _Institute_ , much less my bedroom?”

“Long story,” Simon said before Isabelle could launch into the in-depth version.

“Well, this is awkward. . .” supplied Isabelle, who was getting up to leave, dragging a still-shirtless Simon behind her.

“No, wait. Don’t leave. I was just coming to grab my cell phone to call the both of you. Jace wants us all to head to Magnus's as soon as possible. He says we need all hands on deck. Even Maia and Jordan.”

Isabelle looked at Simon apprehensively. “Are you and Jordan going to be okay to be in the same room as each other?”

Simon nodded. “It’s for Clary. We have to be.”

 

Will and Jace had been in Brocelind tracking the werewolf for nearly an hour. The cold outside was nearly unbearable, and Will couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. “Jace?” he asked.

His  _parabatai_  didn’t look up at him as he spoke. “What?”

“Do you hear that?”

“That’s not even remotely funny, Will.”

“I’m not kidding,” Will whispered fervently. “I swear, I feel like we’re being watched.”

Behind them, a twig snapped loudly and the both of them turned to face the direction of the noise. Jace turned back to Will and nodded and they split up.

Will snuck through the trees, trying to sneak up on their follower. He saw a shadow move behind a tree and moved quickly to catch it. When he jumped around the tree, however, the cause of the shadow had disappeared. For a moment, he allowed himself to feel discouraged. That is, until he heard a struggle a short distance away. He rushed toward the sound, and found his  _parabatai_ locked in a scuffle with a small figure whose head was covered with a dark hood. He immediately rushed to Jace’s aid, grabbing the attacker from behind, surprised when the person turned out to be a lot lighter than he’d expected. He gripped the attacker close, pinning the shadow’s arms to its sides, though it fought back, stronger than he would have thought for a creature of its size. Not a creature, he thought, when he heard her voice yell at him in a familiar tone, “Hey, get your hands off of me!” He dropped the small girl onto the ground, and his eyes widened when the hood fell back to reveal a familiar fiery redhead with just as fiery eyes. He shook his head in bewilderment.

“Clary?” he said incredulously.

She smiled at him, though not without malice. “Hey sweetheart. Miss me?”

“Clary, what in the name of the Angel are you doing here?” said Jonathan, coming to stand next to Will.

Clary pushed herself up off of the ground, dusting dried leaves off of her gear. “Can’t you guess?”

“If Father finds out—”

“Oh, like I  _care_  anymore,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’m so sick of being his little porcelain doll. I’m not going to break. I’m a Shadowhunter. I was born a Shadowhunter, and that’s what I’m going to be, despite what he seems to think.”

“Well, apparently, he was right that you weren’t ready. I mean, what Shadowhunter in his or her right mind comes out on a hunt alone?”

“I’m not alone, though,” she replied innocently, which seemed very suspicious to Will.

“Following us doesn’t count, Clary,” said Will, irritably.

“I never said anything about you two.”

Suddenly, Will felt a blade at his throat and his sighed. Of course Clary wouldn’t go anywhere without her best friend.

“You’re getting slow, Herondale,” said a sultry voice from behind him, coming from the girl still holding her dagger to his throat. “I never used to be able to pull that on you.”

“Yeah, well it would be lovely if you could pull that dagger on someone who actually deserved it, Isabelle.”

Isabelle Lightwood leaned forward, and he could feel her lips on his ear as she spoke. “But what would be the fun in that?”

Clary laughed. “Alright, Izzy. Let him go.”

The blade was suddenly gone from Jace’s throat and a beautiful, dark haired girl was stepping around to stand next to her own  _parabatai_. Isabelle looked at Clary and smiled. “Told you we could catch them off guard.”

“Yeah, I know,” Clary said rolling her eyes again. “I’ll let you use my good throwing knives when we get home. You won the bet.”

“Isabelle. Nice to see that you’re indulging yet another one of my sister’s suicidal plans,” said Jace.

Isabelle drifted over to Will’s  _parabatai_  and beamed at him. “Not suicidal,” she said. “Fun.” She wrapped her arms around Jace’s neck and kissed him softly.

Jace smiled at her. “Isabelle, I may love you to death but,” he said pushing her away, “I think it may be time to buy you a dictionary for Christmas. Because obviously you have no idea what the word ‘fun’ actually means.”

“I know that you and I have  _our_  fun all the time,” Isabelle whispered sensually.

Clary and Will both cringed. “Gross, Iz!” Clary exclaimed.

“There are some things about friends you just don’t want to know, Isabelle, and that is definitely one of them,” added Will. “Now, why don’t you and Clary go home. Your brothers can’t be happy that you’re out here.”

“What Alec and Max don’t know won’t hurt them.  Max isn’t even old enough to start being overprotective of me yet. He just keeps his nose stuck in a book all day. And Alec nearly gets him and Wayland killed almost every time they go hunting. It my and Clary’s turn for a fun adventure.”

“Look, Clary,” Jace began, “I know you’re trying to prove yourself. But getting you and Isabelle killed is no way to do that.”

Clary looked annoyed, more annoyed than Will had seen her in a long time. “Why does this have to end with me dying in your mind? I am just as good a Shadowhunter as you are.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. I’ll prove it, too. How about we make a game of this? First to the wolf kills it and gets to take the credit. And Dad knows exactly who delivered the final blow.”

“Clary, this isn’t a game and it isn’t a race,” Jace hissed. “I’m not letting you two go out there alone. It wouldn’t even be a fair fight if I did—”

“Fine. Give me my boyfriend, and I’ll give you your girlfriend. Evens it out a bit, don’t you think?”

Will sighed, knowing that his girlfriend was never going to let this go. “Come on, Jace. You know she’ll never give up. She’s just as stubborn as another Morgenstern I know.”

“You’re siding with her?” Sebastian said incredulously. “Oh, come on. No.”

“Baby, please?” Isabelle coaxed. “For me?”

“By the Angel, I said no!”

Three pairs of eyes were burning into him, willing him to agree. “Oh, I’m going to regret this,” he finally muttered under his breath.

“Is that a yes?” Isabelle asked hopefully.

Jonathan sighed, “Yes, fine. First to the wolf kills it. And our father, Clarissa, is to know that this was entirely your idea.”

“Of course.” Clary said, grinning maniacally. “Come on, Will.”

 

Clary and Will were walking in a part of the forest that she’d never seen before, and it was obvious that it had been months at least since any other people had traveled here. It had been about half an hour since the two of them had broken away from Sebastian and Isabelle, and they were no further now than they had been then. “Will,” Clary hazarded. “Can I ask you something?”

He made a dismissive noise as he continued walking, which Clary took as a “yes.”

“What happened between you and your father this morning?”

Will’s shoulders tensed visibly, but his voice was calm as he spoke. “Why do you ask that?”

“Because, when I found you two out in the gardens, you looked like you’d seen a ghost. Is something wrong?”

Will sighed. “I didn’t want to say anything. . .” he began, and shook his head.

“What? Will, what’s going on?”

Will stopped walking and turned to face Clary. “I asked my father what happened to Valentine’s  _parabatai._  He’s been so. . . Overprotective of  _parabatai_  lately, even more so than any other Shadowhunter I’ve ever met. It really hit me this morning when he was talking to you about Izzy.”

“Yeah, I asked my mom about it too. She wouldn’t say. She just said it was complicated.”

“I wish that’s what my father had told me,” Will replied blandly. “Clary, your father’s  _parabatai_ didn’t just die. The word is that he’d done something, something that made your father want to kill him. Rumors were even going around that he was seeing Jocelyn. A few weeks later, Valentine and Lucian, his  _parabatai_ , were on a routine raid in a werewolves’ nest and Lucian ended up getting bitten by one of them. If the rumors are true, Valentine  _let_  it happen, and then told his  _parabatai_ to kill himself instead of living the disgraced life of a Downworlder.”

Clary was taken aback, unsure what to say. “How does your father know all of this?” was all she could manage.

“Lucian used to be Valentine’s right hand. My father is the one who replaced him. He even told me that he was married when it happened, but not to my mother. He was married to Lucian’s sister, Amatis. Valentine made them get divorced after Lucian turned.”

“But why? Will, you’re making it sound like my father is some kind of purist that hates Downworlders.”

“Clary, he _is_. He wants Shadowhunters to rule the Earth, but he’s just not ready to take over yet. Listen, he’s planning something. My father couldn’t tell me what, but he told me that if I could find Lucian, Valentine’s  _parabatai_ , we might be able to stop him.”

“You’re crazy!” Clary exclaimed, pulling away from Will, unable to even look at him.

“I know you don’t want to believe me, but you have to at least try to understand—”

“No! I won’t just  _try to understand_  that my father is some kind of vigilante Shadowhunter that breaks the law and is inane and. . .” Clary trailed off, at a loss for words.

“You know,” said a deep and unfamiliar voice from behind her, “you really should listen to him. He knows what he’s talking about.”

Clary spun around and saw an older man in a flannel shirt and faded jeans standing before her. No, not a man. The scruffy hair and beard, the slight golden ring in his irises, the teeth, more pointed than any normal human's, and hands curved into sharp claws meant that this was no ordinary man. It was a werewolf. The one they’d been hunting. Suddenly, the words he’d spoken held no meaning, and she reached down and pulled a throwing dagger from her thigh sheath and raised her arm lightening fast to throw it, surprised that the Downworlder made no move to get out of the way or stop her; he didn’t even flinch.

There was a tight grasp around the wrist of the hand that held the knife and she looked back at it to find Will’s hand like a vise on her own. “Clary, no! Stop!” He grabbed the blade out of her hand and released her.

“Will, what in the name of the Angel are you doing?”

“Clary, you can’t kill this man.”

“It isn't a  _man_. It’s a rogue werewolf. We’ve found it and it’s our  _duty_  to kill it.”

“It’s not, though. Clary, use your head. Think,” Will pleaded.

Clary’s head was swimming but she forced herself to close her eyes and focus. Will’s story about her father’s  _parabatai,_ Lucian.  _Lucian._  The name she’d heard her mother mention to her father.

_“. . .know it’s Lucian,” Jocelyn was saying. “How could you send your own son—?”_

_“It’s just a hunt, Jocelyn,” Valentine coaxed. “Nothing more. You’re making too much of all of this.”_

_“No, there is so much more to this than just a_ hunt _, Valentine. This is you being too much of a coward to face your past—”_

And now Clary knew just what she meant. Her father hadn’t taken this hunt only because he couldn’t kill the one person that he’d once loved as a brother. His  _parabatai._

“Lucian,” she said out loud, though it was more a revelation to herself than to anyone else. Clary felt a stab of pain in her heart. Though, she assumed it was only because she had just discovered that her life had been built on a bed of lies.

The werewolf squinted his eyes. “Jocelyn?”

“No,” Will said. “This is her daughter.”

The wolf, who Clary now knew to be Lucian, closed his eyes and sighed. “Of course. Her daughter. Clarissa Seraphina Morgenstern. Your father wanted to name you Seraphina as your first name, and your mother wanted to call you Clarissa Adele, but they compromised.” The pain in Clary’s heart grew, and she put a hand over her chest. “And you,” Lucian continued, turning to Will, “must be the brother. Jonathan Christopher. Or am I mistaken?”

“Actually, I’m William Herondale. Jonathan is my  _parabatai_.”

“Of course. Stephen’s son. Jocelyn told me that’s who had Valentine had appointed to replace me after I left.”

“Jocelyn? You’ve been talking to my mother?” The pain in Clary’s heart was growing stronger still, and she leaned on Will heavily, grasping at her chest.

“Clary? What’s wrong?” Will asked, concern coloring his voice.

“Nothing. It’s just a lot to take in I guess.”

Lucian shot her a worried glance, but continued. “Jocelyn and I were very close. She was my best friend. We couldn’t let each other go, no matter what Valentine said. She found me a few months after I’d left.”

“Well, I’m sure Father will be disappointed to hear that,” said a voice from behind Will, and Clary turned to see Jace there, his crossbow in his hand.

“Jace, wait, don’t do anything stupid,” Clary began. “It’s not what you th—”

Her sentence was cut off by her own blood curdling scream as she sank to the ground, the physical pain in her heart nearly incapacitating. Will fell to his knees beside her, asking her if she’d been hurt, what was wrong. But she couldn’t answer. Her hand grasped at the source of the pain in her chest. Will carefully pushed aside the top of her gear, revealing the rune that had been placed there when Clary was fourteen.

“It’s her  _parabatai_ rune,” Luke remarked worriedly, and started forward to help her, only to be deferred by the crossbow bolt targeted at his heart.

“Stay where you are, mutt,” Jonathan uttered menacingly.

“Jace, don’t!” Will pleaded. “He’s not the enemy here. Valentine lied to you, to both of you.”

“Oh, I know,” Jace replied coolly, and, before any further objection could be made, he pulled the trigger and the bolt fitted to his crossbow flew into Lucian’s chest, tearing through his heart.

Clary, still writhing in pain on the ground, watched in shock, just like Will.

Jace looked down and smiled at the two of them. “Oh, my bad, Will. You were trying to say something?”

Will shook his head and returned his gaze to Clary’s bleeding  _parabatai_  rune. “Wait,” he said, suddenly coming to a realization he should have made much earlier. He turned to look up at Jonathan, who had abandoned the cross bow and now held a long sword in his hand. “Jace, where’s Isabelle?”

Jace’s grin spread. “Funny you should ask. I was wondering what was taking you so long to notice.”

“Jonathan,” Clary gasped. “Where is she?”

“My guess? Probably taking one of her last breaths as we speak. Have to give it to her, she fought pretty hard. Not hard enough, though. There’s not a lot you can do once you're paralyzed from the neck down and all you can do is feel a knife slowly slicing your arteries open, letting all of the blood flow out of your body. Knowing that each heartbeat is step closer to being your last. Don’t worry, though, little sister it will all be over soon.”

Clary hated to admit it, but she could tell he was right. The pain was getting worse and she held Will’s hand tight, partly out of her need to hold someone close to her, and partly to keep him from murdering her cruel brother. “Will,” she said to him when he started to pull away from her to jump at Jonathan, her voice a sob. “Please.” Tears streamed down her face, and Will abandoned his attack attempt for the moment, holding her hand, squeezing it just as hard as she was squeezing his.

“I’m sorry, Clary,” said Will, wiping a tear as it fell down her face. “I’m so sorry.”

The sharpest pain Clary had ever felt in her life surged through her body and she arched off the ground, screaming as loud as her voice would allow. And then, suddenly, it was over. There was no more pain. Clary collapsed back down to the ground, shaking. And she knew exactly what the end of the blinding pain meant. “No,” she whispered through her tears. “By the Angel, no.  _Isabelle_.”

Will put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her up into his lap as she sobbed, while Jace stood silently behind them, just watching—or at least, that’s what Clary thought. After a few moments, Clary became increasingly aware of the fact that Will’s light hand on her shoulder had become very heavy, and the small soothing circles he’d been rubbing on her arm with his other hand had ceased as well. But it wasn’t until warm, sticky liquid spilled into her hair that she finally raised her head to look at him—

—and cried out yet again, her hand flying to her mouth in horror. Will’s throat had been cut clean through, nearly to the point of decapitation. Clary backed away from her boyfriend quickly, fresh tears rolling down her face. Jace stood behind the body, his blood-painted sword hanging loosely in his hand. He kicked Will to the side, blood still dripping out of the gruesome gash in his neck onto the forest floor below. Clary’s brother stepped unceremoniously over Will’s corpse and strode lazily toward her. She crawled backward away from him until her back hit a tree.

“You see, little sister? You can’t escape me.” Jonathan smirked, and Clary watched in a frightened awe as she watched his eyes become black tunnels, the color draining out of his hair until it was silvery-white. “You can never escape me. I’m always here. In real life and your dreams. I can always find you. Do you know why?” He leaned down and whispered into her ear, an action that would have sent shivers down her spine were she not already trembling uncontrollably. “Because you will  _always_  belong to me.”

 

Clary’s eyes flew open, and she jumped upward. It was dark and she couldn’t see anything, or remember anything, for that matter. Her memories were all pretty fuzzy. All she could tell was that she was sitting in a comfortable bed, with the sheets pulled up to her waist, and that she wasn’t alone. Strong arms wrapped around her waist, and she relaxed immediately.  _Oh,_  she thought to herself, breathing out a sigh of relief.  _It’s just Jace._  She put her hands over the rough, calloused ones that were wrapped around her, and she felt the person behind her kiss her neck, bringing a smile to her lips.

“Bad dream?” whispered a voice in her ear, and she stilled.  _Not Jace,_ her mind was saying feverently.  _This isn’t Jace. It’s not the blond haired angel boy you love. It’s the demon boy. The one with the poison in his blood. Your brother. Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern._


	8. Chapter 5: Father's Child

Jordan shut the door behind him as he and Maia, the last of the group to arrive, entered Magnus's apartment. "Sorry we're late," Jordan said. "I was in the middle of something when I got your call."

"Just be glad we didn't start without you," replied Magnus coolly.

"Yes, well they're here now, Magnus," said Alec. "So can you please tell me why you dragged us all here on such short notice? Is it Clary? Have you found her?"

"Do you think if I'd have found Clary, Alexander, that I would just be sitting around waiting for you all to show up?" Magnus snapped. “That I wouldn’t have contacted the Clave to bring a full army of Shadowhunters here?”

“Look, you two,” Jace said irritably. “I do not have time for your fighting. So either kiss and make up already, or at least be civil to each other. Magnus, you said you wanted to tell us about your family. What did you mean? Is it something that can help Clary?”

“Maybe.” Magnus sighed and sat down on the couch, gesturing for the others to sit on the various recliners and love seats scattered around the room. “Look, Jace, there are things that I was never willing to do when you were gone. I mean, yeah, it would have been a terrible loss if you’d died, but, in Sebastian’s hands, you were just another Shadowhunter.”

“And here I thought we were such great friends, Magnus,” Jace answered, feigning hurt.

Magnus rolled his eyes and continued. “But, what you said about Clary was right. She’s a weapon in Sebastian’s hand. She’ll do anything he wants her to do if she drinks from the Infernal Cup, and she’ll do it willingly, just like you when you still had Lilith’s Mark. Only, Clary has the power to create new runes. If Sebastian was suddenly in control of that power, all Hell would break loose.”

“Yes, we’ve established this already, Magnus,” said Simon, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. “Sebastian having Clary is definitely a disaster. We know that. The question is how do we get her back?”

“And what’s it got to do with your family?” Alec added, his eyes curious as everyone’s were. Only his also held traces of concern and fear.

Magnus rubbed his hands over his eyes. “I think this might be easier to explain if I show you all something first.” He held out his hand expectantly. “Which one of you has a witchlight with you?”

“A witchlight?” Isabelle questioned. “What on Earth do you need a witchlight for?”

“I can’t explain it,” Magnus growled irritably. “Do you have one with you or not?”

“Of course I do, but—”

“Give it to him, Isabelle,” Alec interjected unexpectedly. “You’re going to want to see this. Trust me.”

Alec and Magnus both shared a knowing glance, and Isabelle reluctantly gave up the small witchlight rune stone from her pocket. Magnus took it gently, and then held it up so everyone in the room could see. The others, with the exception of Alec, watched in amazement as the witchlight lit up, though not in the normal bright white glow of a witchlight. Instead, the stone glowed blood red. Isabelle’s mouth fell open, as did Simon’s. Maia and Jordan just looked around at the Shadowhunters to see if they had any idea as to what was happening. Jace looked confused, his eyebrows knit together in deep thought. Alec, unlike the others, was unfazed, having already seen the trick before a month ago, the night Magnus had broken up with him.

After a few minutes of the other gawking at Magnus, the light finally began to dim, and he handed it back to a shock-faced Isabelle.

“What in the name of the Angel,” Jace finally said after a moment of eerie silence, “was that?”

“Told you that you wanted to see it,” Alec mumbled under his breath, grinning.

“You weren’t wrong,” Jace replied, not turning his attention from Magnus. “I’ve never seen a witchlight do that before, especially for anyone other than a Shadowhunter. How did you do that?”

“You all know the story of the first Nephilim and how, since then, Shadowhunters are born with their powers from the Angel’s blood they have inside of them?”

“Magnus, I’m not even a _Shadowhunter_ and I know that,” Simon replied. “I’m pretty sure everyone in the Shadow World knows that story.”

Magnus glared at him and he slammed his mouth shut instantly. “Have you ever wondered, though, what would happen if an angel and a mundane were to have a child? A child not through a bloodline, like normal Shadowhunters, but for an angel of Heaven to have a child by a mundane woman?”

“Is that even possible?” Maia asked.

“I didn’t think so,” Jace replied, with a tired expression that seemed to say _I don’t know what to think anymore._ “After everything I’ve seen in the past couple of months though, I’m not sure there’s anything I won’t believe anymore.”

“Magnus,” Alec spoke carefully, as if trying not to sound skeptical, and in the process sounded like a parent telling a child to stop making up stories. “Are you telling me that your father was an angel?”

“Not exactly,” Magnus hazarded, dreading the idea of telling anyone the truth about his father. “He wasn’t an angel when I was created, but he had been, long before then.”

“An angel who isn’t an angel anymore? What does that even mean?” Isabelle interjected.

“A fallen angel,” said Alec, his voice barely a whisper. “Camille told me that your father is a Prince of Hell.”

“And he is. Before he was known as a devil in this world, he was just another angel. The namesake of Clary’s family, as a matter of fact. The Morning Star.”

“Lucifer,” Jace, finally speaking up again, said, a horrified expression on his face. “You’re the son of Lucifer?”

“A demon, perhaps, but originally an angel. That is why my powers are so great. That is why I can hold that witchlight and it will glow for me. It is why, should I hold a seraph blade, I am the only individual in this world who can call one forth in the name of my father. A blade like one you’ve never seen before.”

“Alright,” Simon began, erasing the silence before it had had a solid chance to set in. “So, you’re some kind of crazy powerful. . . ‘Shadow-lock’ or whatever you want to call yourself because you’re the child of a fallen angel. That I can understand, despite the fact that I didn’t think there was anything out there that could freak me out anymore. But, Magnus, what has this got to do with Clary?”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with her per se; this is me, helping you find a way to track down Sebastian.”

“Fine,” Jace said hotly. “Whatever. What is it you’re planning on doing? How is knowing who your father is going to help us find Sebastian? Are you going to raise him like you did Azazel? Because last time I checked, that didn’t work out so great, and Simon’s Mark of Cain is gone now, so if you’re planning on using him again, you’re just out of luck.”

“Jace,” Alec began, before Jace held up a hand to silence him.

“Not now, Alec. Now, Bane, tell me _exactly_ what it is you’re planning on doing.”

“I, personally, am going to discuss the matter with the others. You, on the other hand, are going to go into the other room and cool off a bit, so to speak.”

“What are you talking about? I’m fine!” Jace protested.

“Oh, really?” Magnus gestured at the table that Jace was leaning up against. Jace let his eyes wander to the pile of mail on the table top, all of it white envelopes and sales pitches, and all of it burning to a crisp in the small flame that was now engulfing it. Jace gasped and quickly tossed the mail on the floor, stomping out the fire. When it had been smothered, Jace raised a sheepish face to look at everyone else.

“Smooth one,” said Isabelle, rolling her eyes.

“I always knew you were a hot head, Jace, but that’s going just a little overboard,” Simon jeered.

“Look kids, this is Chef Jace’s first dish of the day. Mail _flambé._ ” Jordan added, making Maia crack up laughing.

“Wolf, I swear,” Jace said increasingly irritably, “another word from either of you and the library at the Institute is going to have a couple of new fur rugs.”

“Oh, come on, Jace. Relax. We get it. You were just trying to prove you’re hot in the absence of the one girl who would agree with you. . .” Alec began, trailing off when he realized how far over the line he’d stepped.

Jace spun on him, face red with fury, but right as he opened his mouth to speak, Magnus interrupted him.

“Enough!” he proclaimed. “All of you. Before the free-standing space heater over here barbeques my whole apartment.” Jace narrowed his eyes at the warlock, and Magnus watched as a flame suddenly appeared on the other boy’s shirt sleeve. “Jace,” he continued. “Go into the bedroom and stay there until one of us comes to fetch you.”

“I am not some dog’s chew toy, Bane. And I’m not going anywhere.” A pair of scented candles on the dining room table several feet behind Jace ignited, burning brighter than they normally should have been able to. “She’s _my_ girlfriend.”

“And it’s not going to do anyone any good if you torch us all before we can even look for her!”

“You can’t just shut me out of this!” The fire on Jace’s sleeve was spreading now, but he didn’t seem to notice, and the others in the room began to distance themselves from the human bonfire that he was becoming.

“Of course I can,” Magnus said, smiling mischievously.

“Over my dead body.”

Magnus sighed. “If you insist,” he replied, and, with a wave of his hand, Jace’s face had gone slack, and he slumped to the floor. Lazily, Magnus stood up, pulled a bouquet of dead flowers out a vase on the table next to the sofa, and poured the vase's liquid contents on Jace's shirt, extinguishing the flames.

"Jace!" Isabelle cried, rushing to kneel at his side. She turned to glower at Magnus. "What in the name of the Angel did you do to him?!"

"Relax, would you? I just knocked him unconscious. He'll only be out for a little while. Really, Isabelle, it's like you don't trust me at all." Isabelle rolled her eyes and stood back up, moving to lean on the arm of the chair in which Simon sat. Magnus bent down to pick up Chairman Meow, who had hidden under a table when things had begun catching fire. "Now," he continued. "Jordan, if you'd be so kind as to help Jace into the other room, I'd be very grateful. And, if you could stay in there to watch him and make sure he doesn't wake up and burn the whole building down?"

"Why am _I_ on Shadowhunter babysitting duty?" Jordan asked indignantly.

"Because you've know Clary for the least amount of time amongst the rest of us, and therefore, I believe you are of better use outside of this discussion. I'm sure we can manage without you. If that turns out to be false, I will be sure to come and let you know."

Jordan began to protest further, but Maia brought up her hand to touch his arm gently. He looked down to her, her eyes sympathetic but urgent. He sighed, mumbling something under his breath. Magnus couldn't hear what it was, but he could tell it was something nasty about always getting the short end of the stick.

Once Jace and Jordan were safely behind the closed door of Magnus's bedroom, the warlock looked at the other four each in turn, speaking quietly. "Alright. Now, there are a few things to talk about."

"Yeah," Alec replied. "Why don't we start with: how in the name of the Angel this little revelation of yours is going to help us find Sebastian?"

"Well, I have a few ideas about that. One in particular. But you aren't going to like it."

 

Clary jumped up off the bed and away from her brother's arms. She spun around to glare at Sebastian, who had turned on a lamp beside the bed and was smirking at her as he lay back on the pile of pillows, propping himself up on his elbow so that he could look at her. He wore the same gear he'd worn in the alley, though by now he'd taken the boots off, as well as the weapons belt. Clary wondered for a brief moment how long she had been asleep.

"Aw. Why the long face little sis?" Sebastian asked condescendingly. "Not who you were expecting to wake up to?"

"You could say that," she muttered coldly, her head exploding. Whatever Sebastian had drugged her with, it had left behind a nasty headache and a bitter metal taste in her mouth.

Her brother slipped off the bed gracefully and slowly began to close the distance between himself and Clary. She, in return, was backing away as quickly as she could, afraid of what would happen once he was finally next to her. Her heel hit something hard, and she turned to see that she had backed into a wooden chair—only this wasn't an ordinary wooden chair. On the arms and front legs were iron manacles, like something one might see in a museum exhibit about medieval torture instruments. She gasped and backed away from it, directly into her brother's arms, which wrapped around her so tightly they nearly crushed the air from her lungs. "Let me go!" she screamed, though Sebastian seemed not to hear her; or, if he did, he didn't seem to care. He turned her around quickly and pushed her down into the chair, easily maneuvering past her struggles, first cuffing both of Clary's wrists one by one, and then doing the same for her ankles.

Slowly, Sebastian stood up and backed away from her, sneering at Clary as she pulled relentlessly against the iron manacles. "Careful. Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself. Then again. . ." He smirked, leaving the end of the sentence up in the air.

"Let me go, you son of b—"

"Careful now, sis. Don't forget: that's your mother too."

Clary glared at him. "Let me go. I swear, Sebastian, let me go right now or I'll—"

"You'll what?" Sebastian remarked, rolling his eyes at her. "You'll _look_ me to death?" He laughed shortly and leaned down, uncomfortably close, and she turned her face away from him. "Look at me, Clarissa" he whispered into her ear. She shook her head, refusing to turn back to him. He reached out, before she even realized he had moved, and grabbed her chin, his sharp nails digging into the soft flesh there. Though Clary fought him, he yanked her face around to look at his, and Clary noticed the fire in his eyes that meant he was losing his little patience with her. She stared back at him defiantly.

"You know you're lying to yourself," he said. "You _want_ to trust me, your mind just isn't letting you."

Clary shook her head. "You're imagining things. I _hate_ you. I can't stand you, much less trust you."

"Oh, really? Then tell me: when you woke up from whatever nightmare you found yourself in earlier, and I put my arm around you, you calmed down immediately. Why would you do that if you didn't at least want to trust me?"

Clary had hoped that Sebastian hadn't noticed this. She felt ashamed of herself, closing her eyes and letting her head droop down. "I thought you were Jace."

Sebastian's hand cracked across Clary's face, and she looked up at in astonishment, wanting to bring her hand up to cup the stinging flesh, but prevented from doing so by the cold metal still encircling her wrists. Sebastian was glaring at her menacingly. "Don't say that name to me," he commanded.

Clary scoffed. "If I'm lying to myself, so are you. This isn't about your dark Shadowhunters or you just wanting to burn down the world. You wouldn't have brought me here if that's all this was. You have a thousand other things you could be doing right now, but you chose to take me and bring me here. You can say whatever you want, spout out however many excuses you can think of, but I know the truth. I am the one thing that Jace had that you could never have, and you were just jealous. You've always been jealous of him."

"Just one problem with your theory, little sister. Jace doesn't have you right now." Sebastian leaned forward, a twisted smile on his face. "I do." He laughed unexpectedly, surprising Clary, who looked up at her brother like he'd lost the little sanity he had left. "I've won! Can't you see? I've won!"

Clary narrowed her eyes at him in disbelief and shook her head. "That's your problem, Sebastian. You think this is a _game_?"

"But of course it is, Clary. You can't tell me this isn't a little bit fun for you, as well."

" _Fun_?" Clary repeated incredulously. "You think it's fun for me to be going through this? To have to deal with the fact that I want my only brother dead, just as badly as I wanted my father dead? It's _killing_ me. It would be killing you too, if you had a conscience. If Valentine hadn't have stripped away your humanity, you'd be just like me right now."

"Or," said Sebastian, "would you be just like me?" Off of her blank look, he elaborated. "Come on. _Think,_ Clary. If I'd never been given my demon powers, you would have grown up with Valentine, just the same as I did. I know you've thought about it at some point or another. What do you imagine you would have turned out like had we really been raised in the one big happy family you've been imagining since you found out who I am?"

Clary's mind wandered back to the dream she'd been having before she'd woken up in the bed with Sebastian. She thought about how different everything had been, and not only with Sebastian. Jace, Isabelle, Jocelyn, Luke, and even Clary herself were all completely different people. Her mind left the dream before it had to relive the horrifying ending. "I know I wouldn't be the same person." She looked up into her brother's eyes. "But, at this point, I don't even care. If it meant you were different, I would give anything to go to that."

"But _would I be different?_ That's the question. Surely you don't think that everything I've done is because of who I am, the blood that runs in my veins? Have you never thought that, just maybe, Valentine's upbringing is what made me like this in the first place?"

"Except, you're forgetting that you aren't the only one who grew up with Valentine. Jace—"

"Jace," Sebastian remarked scornfully. "Jace was a screw up. He let his heart get in the way of what needed to be done, so Valentine got rid of him after only ten years. He couldn't face the fact that he had completely failed as a parent with him."

"You're wrong. Valentine loved him just as much as he loved you. He had to let Jace go for his own safety. He would have kept him longer had he not gotten that letter. He was worried about what might happen to him, so he had to fake his death, send Jace to the Lightwoods."

"Standing up for your old man, are you?" Sebastian commented nastily. "Funny. I thought you hated him as much as everyone else did. I mean, you did kill him didn't you?"

Clary ignored this last comment. "Everyone except for you. You didn't hate him."

"Of course I did."

"How can you say that? You were the one child Valentine _wanted_. He loved you, he kept you with him, even after Jace was gone he watched over you, he trained you and he brought you up. How can you even—?"

"Can't you see? I mean, do you really not get it?" Sebastian remarked incredulously.

Clary, unsure what he meant, remained silent.

"Clary, Valentine  _hated_  me. He raised me to be a demon. Why? Why would a man who just wants to eradicate demons and Downworlders from the Earth create an entirely new evil, worse than either of them? Because all I was, all I ever was to my father was an experiment. A test."

"A test?"

"For you! Valentine always wanted the perfect Shadowhunter child. It's what he was always trying to make. He created me, but then he created you and Jace to destroy me! He always intended for me to die! To prove that you two were the best Shadowhunters, the perfect warriors he thought you were, he had to create something worse than any other Shadowhunters would ever face, something worse than a greater demon, the worst enemy possible to test your abilities." 

"You can't honestly believe that—"

"I found his journals! At the apartment, there were hundreds of journals about each of us, research journals, talking about how we were advancing toward our 'destinies'. At least, that's what he called it. Clary, he knew where you and your mother were the whole time after she took you away from Idris. The reason he didn't come after you or Jace was because he didn't think you were ready yet. With Jocelyn taking away your memories and your sight, he said that your growth was being stunted, that your abilities weren't forming right. He knew that if he waited too long, he's miss his chance, so created a situation in Tanzania and he waited." 

"Tanzania? Sebastian, what does that—?"Clary trailed off as a scene materialized in her mind. A conversation she'd overheard between her mother and Luke the day the Ravener demon had attacked her at her Brownstone.  _"… Bane," Jocelyn was saying. "I've been calling him and calling him for the past three weeks. His voice mail says he's in Tanzania. . ."_

Clary's apartment disappeared, replaced by Magnus' dark bedroom the night of his party, the night they had first met.  _"We were due for another visit about a month ago," Magnus had said. "I even came by your house when I got back from Tanzania. . ."_

"Magnus was in Tanzania right around the time my sight started coming back," Clary mumbled to herself, her gaze turning inward. "It's the reason my mom didn't take me to him to do the spell before Valentine came after her. . ." Clary looked up at her brother. "He planned for Magnus to be out of the country?"

"He wanted to give you some time for your sight to start coming back before he set things in motion. Though the warlock figured out the problem in Tanzania quite a bit faster than Valentine thought possible, and he had to move the schedule up by a few weeks."

"What do you mean 'set things in motion'? What did Valentine do? You told me about Magnus, but what else did he do, Sebastian?"

Clary's brother scoffed at her. "Have you really never wondered how you and the Lightwoods just happened to end up at the Pandemonium club on the same night?"

"Of course, but. . ." Clary froze. "No. He couldn't. There's no way Valentine—"

"No way Valentine could bribe a demon to allow himself to be tracked by a pack of Shadowhunters to a club that you frequented on Sunday nights?"

Clary felt the blood drain from her face in shock. "No," she whispered. "You're lying. You have to be."

"I have no reason to lie. You're just in denial. Valentine played your life and Jace's like a game of chess. You've never had control about your own future. You were just an experiment. Just a pawn. And I was your greatest test, both of yours. But you lost. You've failed the test. I win. I will always win." Clary realized that her brother had come dangerously close to her, and he whispered the last few words into her ear, making her shiver.

"No one's won, yet," Clary replied, fighting to keep her voice calm. "It's still anyone's game."

"Unfortunately," Sebastian answered, disappearing behind Clary, which set her nerves on edge and sent her heart rate racing. "At the moment you're right, dear Clarissa. But all of that will soon change." Finally, after a few excruciating minutes, Sebastian came back into Clary's field of vision. Only he now held something. A gleaming black chalice, the size and shape of the Mortal Cup. But, as both Clary and her brother knew, this cup wasn't seraphically allied. Clary gasped at the sight of it, instantly renewing her efforts to escape. " _Everything_ will change now," Sebastian continued. "I will finally have the upper hand I need. The Shadowhunters will be brought to their knees, and they will witness the death of this world before their very eyes. Finally, I will have the advantage I need to destroy them all. Once you've drunk from the cup, Clary, we can destroy all of them, all of this world. Together."

Clary shook her head violently, but did not respond. Instead, she kept her lips sealed as her brother started forward, pushing the cup painfully against her mouth. Tears sprung to her eyes in a fierce determination. She knew exactly what would happen if she parted her lips: she would drink the black mixture of demon blood in the cup, and she would become one of _them_ —the dark Shadowhunters. Sebastian would have her create runes, any runes he wanted, and she would give them to him without a second thought. She couldn't let this happen. She couldn't betray her friends—she'd rather die.

As she thrashed around, Clary's heart leapt in her chest as she realized that the iron manacles on the wooden chair were not as tightly connected to the arms and legs of the chair as they had been when Sebastian had first locked them on. Whether they were coming unbolted or whether the wood was slowly breaking apart, Clary didn't know or care. She now had a new sense of hope, and thought to herself that maybe, just maybe, if she could fight off Sebastian long enough, she might be able to stop the destruction before it had even begun. She kept fighting, turning her head away, doing everything she could to pull up the cuffs. She could feel them about to give way. _Just a few more seconds,_ she thought to herself. . .

 

Jordan was leaned up against the bedroom door, listening to the mumbled conversation out in the living room. Behind him, he heard a voice grunt and turned around to see Jace, who seemed to be regaining consciousness.

"Good morning, sunshine." Jordan said sarcastically.

Jace raised his head and then the rest of his upper body, reaching up one hand to the back of his head. He winced when his fingers came in contact with the area of his head that had hit the floor the hardest. Jordan struggled to hide his smile but failed miserably.

"What are you laughing at, wolf?" said Jace grudgingly.

"Nothing," Jordan said, sneering. "I just find it funny that you're in time out."

Jace rolled his eyes at the werewolf, standing up out of the bed and attempting to brush past him. "Get out of my way."

Jordan put out an arm to stop him. "Jace, you can't be out there right now. Remember what just happened? You almost set the whole apartment on _fire_."

"I don't care," Jace said, moving to go past the other boy again, and again finding his path blocked. "I'm warning you, Kyle—"

"Jace, listen. You have to calm down and stay calm. You have to find a way to keep your heart rate down so that you don't turn into a giant walking sun every time you get angry."

Jace rolled his eyes yet again, but finally conceded, sitting down on the foot of Magnus's bed. "So, Jordan, what are you going to do? Are you a trained psychologist? Are you going to make me do ridiculous exercises and make me talk about my feelings so that we can find out what my _real_ problem is?" Jace took on the air of an older man with a nasally voice. "'Catching yourself on fire is just a metaphor, isn't it, Jace? Why don't you sit down and tell me your _real_ feelings about everything?'" Then, without warning, Jace was back to himself again, glaring at Jordan. "You aren't a shrink."

"No one's saying you need one. I'm just saying that maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to examine your life. You know, find what makes you happy so that, when you really, _really_ feel like bursting into flames, you can think about something happy and make all of that go away. So. . ." Jordan continued awkwardly. "What makes you happy?"

Jace looked up at him exasperatedly. "I am not having this conversation right now."

Jordan went on, ignoring him. "Come on, tell me. Is it Clary? Maybe being around family? What gives you peace of mind, Jace? What calms you down?"

Jace slid off the edge of the bed, curling himself inward and covering his face with his hands. "I am not talking to you about this!" he muttered through his fingers angrily.

"Look, I'm not asking for your life story. Trust me; this is awkward for me too. I don't want to talk about any of this, and I really couldn't care less about your feelings." Jace looked at him in feigned hurt, but Jordan continued. "But, as I would really prefer not to become something you could serve up at Christmas dinner, we have to talk about this. _You_ have to talk about this. So tell me. What thoughts make you happy? A person? An event? Anything?"

Jace stayed silent for a moment, and Jordan was afraid that he wasn't going to respond. But, after a moment, Jace spoke, not raising his gaze to meet Jordan's. "There's a difference between 'making me happy' and 'calming me down'. Clary makes me happy, but she also drives me crazy. Thinking about her, especially now, when I don't know where she is or if she's. . ." He paused, unable to finish the thought, and Jordan noticed the faint glow coming off his skin, illuminating the darkened space slightly. "That's not something to calm me down."

"Okay," Jordan responded encouragingly. "That's something. So what _does_ calm you down?"

"There's this image I keep seeing in my head," Jace mumbled. "Sebastian is there. He thinks he's already won. He doesn't realize that he's really just lost everything. We're fighting and he thinks he has the upper hand on me, but he's wrong. I'm able to slip past him and stab him right through the heart. The thought of killing him brings me joy. The idea of watching as the blood drains out of his body and knowing that his death brings with it the end of the war, that brings me happiness," Jace finished darkly, and Jordan sighed, sinking down to the floor a little ways away from Jace and catching his eyes.

“No killing,” Jordan said. “We’re trying to make you feel peaceful, so you don’t go up in flames. Blood, killing, war, those are all non-peaceful things. Isn’t there anything else you like? Rainforests? Chirping birds?”

“Weapons,” said Jace. “I like weapons.”

“I’m starting to think we have a problematic issue of personal philosophy here.”

Jace leaned forward, his palms flat on the ground. “I’m a warrior,” he said. “I was brought up as a warrior. I didn’t have toys, I had weapons. I slept with a wooden sword until I was five. My first books were medieval demonologies with illuminated pages. The first songs I learned were chants to banish demons. I know what brings me peace, and it isn’t sandy beaches or chirping birds in rainforests. I want a weapon in my hand and a strategy to win.”

Jordan looked at him levelly. “So you’re saying that what brings you peace … is war.”

“Now you get it.” 

For a moment, Jordan was quiet. Finally, he broke the silence, clapping his hands together and jumping to his feet. "Alright, then. Now that we've got that out of the way, I think it's time to rejoin the others."

Jace eyed him suspiciously. "Why the sudden change of heart?"

"Look, I can tell that you're working on it. I can tell that you're trying. What happened earlier, that was an isolated incident. Now that you know what really gives you peace, I think you'll be okay."

"What makes you so sure?" Jace inquired.

"When you were talking about Clary, you started glowing like crazy. I thought for a second you were going to catch fire again—your shirt even started smoking. But then, when you started talking about Sebastian, you got dead calm. By the time you were finished telling me all that stuff about your childhood, you were completely back to normal. I get it now. You aren't like everyone else, Jace. What would drive any normal person crazy or get them upset is what makes you the happiest and most peaceful, and vise versa. I get it now. There's no way to change it. And now that you actually _know_ what calms you down, I think you'll be okay."

Jace's gaze turned inward. "You really think that's all it takes?" he said hopefully.

"Do you want to test it?" Jordan answered nervously. "You know, I could do something to get you really angry and see if it works?"

"Are you sure you want to try something like that?" Jace hazarded.

Without further commentary, Jordan slugged Jace in the jaw, rocking him backward on his heels. Jace looked up in surprise—and anger. "By the Angel, wolf. I swear I am going to—"

"Jace," Jordan said cautiously. "Just remember Sebastian. Remember all you said earlier. Now _calm down_."

Jace, despite the rage flowing through him, managed to slam his eyes shut and allowed the image of a bleeding, dying Sebastian return to him. Slowly but surely, he felt the fire coursing through him die down, and his breath began to steady itself. He opened his eyes and looked at a very pale-looking Jordan.

"You did it," he said, laughing disbelievingly.

"Yeah," Jace said, looking down at his normal, non-glowing hand. "I guess I did."

 

"Are you mentally _insane_ , Magnus Bane?" Isabelle blurted out. "Okay, fine, so you're father is Lucifer, but why does that have to mean—?"

"Isabelle, my father is not just any demon. He's a—no, _the—_ Prince of Hell. Now, despite what is held as common belief, Hell isn't as close to Earth as you might think. It's an entirely different demonic dimension, one that I can't reach very easily. If any normal warlock tried to summon Lucifer, they would die trying, no matter how powerful they are. Now, I, being Lucifer's child, have more powers than the average warlock, and so would probably not die in the process of a feeble attempt at summoning him. Though, I _would_ most likely lose any and all power I ever had. And I, frankly, don't want to even attempt to live the boring live of a mundane. I'm not even sure I would be able to survive a day." No one in the room seemed inclined to argue, though Alec seemed to be letting the idea of a mundane Magnus linger in his mind. "Anyway, warlocks have this way of contacting their demon parents. It's not something many of us ever have need to use, and so it's not really a practiced form of magic. Most warlocks can summon their demon parent with a simple enough spell to ask of them whatever it is they might need. I can't do this for two reasons. First, contact with the demon part of our heritage is forbidden by the Covenant law, and I'm already treading on thin ice with the Clave as it is. And secondly, getting in contact with my father is a far trickier process than all that."

"Lucifer's not just any demon, like you said. You can't just summon him," Alec supplied helpfully. "But your father had to leave you with some form of communication, some form of reaching him?"

"Yes, Alexander, which is what I was trying to explain to you all before." Magnus sighed exasperatedly, and then continued, slower than when he had tried explaining earlier. "My father cannot travel out of his own world, but, as a son of his, I am awarded a luxury, if you can call it that, that is afforded to no other warlock in existence—I can personally walk into Hell to speak to Lucifer. I have never done this, as I have never been in a situation in which I have needed his help desperately enough to ask it. But this situation could bring about the end of the world, and I don't believe we can do this alone and without his help. It will take a few hours to find all the right texts I will need and all the ingredients for the ritual I will need to perform, but I am willing to do it."

"Magnus, you said yourself that contact with your demon parent is against Covenant law," Simon said, speaking up. "Why would you do this? _How_ would you do this? What will the Clave do when they find out?"

"They won't find out—" Isabelle began, but Magnus interrupted her.

"No," he said. "Isabelle, we have enough problems with the Clave as is. We can't afford for them not to know. But, if we can convince them that they need this just as much as we do, then maybe we can do it without breaking any laws. They're already at the end of their rope. They need all the help they can get. The Clave _knows_ it has to change its views on the world if it is going to survive. We just have to give it that little nudge it needs to get going."

"But, Magnus. . ." Maia began, her voice smaller than usual. She had been sitting quietly in a chair slightly apart from the others since Jordan had left, just barely paying attention to the conversation at hand. But she was paying her full attention now. "Would you really do it? I mean, walking into Hell all alone? Even as Lucifer's son, you're part human. Aren't you scared of what will happen if you go?"

"I'm more scared of what might happen if I don't, I'm afraid," Magnus answered. "We need to find Sebastian. None of my magic has been able to track him, and we don't have much more time. My father runs Hell; he is in charge of demons every day. I am sure that he will be able to shed some light on the situation, maybe even tell us where to find Clary."

"And what if he doesn't help?" said Alec tiredly. "Magnus, what if he tricks you into staying or something? What if something goes wrong? Or what if he just doesn't give you anything you've asked for? What if you go down there and it's all been for nothing?"

"So what if he does, Alexander? So what if it is all for nothing? At least we'll have tried something instead of sitting around for Clary's body to turn up in a back alley or on the doorstep of the Institute." Magnus regretted the words as soon as he had spoken them. Simon's face had gone white and his features were like stone. Quickly, he got up and walked out of the room toward the kitchen.

"Simon, wait!" Isabelle called and ran after him.

Maia watched her as she left, waiting a moment before returning her gaze to Magnus and Alec. "I. . . I think I should probably go make sure Simon is alright."

"Maia—" Magnus began, then cut off his own sentence with a sigh. Alec put a hand lightly on his, which he quickly shook off, looking back up at Maia. "Tell him I'm sorry. I don't know what's gotten into me."

Maia nodded slowly, and then got up and walked out of the room in the same direction as Simon and Izzy.

                           

Tara scowled to herself as she stepped out of Taki's Diner into the bright moonlight. Even though the sun had been safely down for hours, she still hated the unusually harsh light coming down from the nearly-full moon in the otherwise black sky. She looked down briefly at her watch, rolling her eyes when she saw how late it was. She knew Raphael would be furious with her when she returned to the Dumort—a lot of the local vampires in the Manhattan Clan had gone missing in recent weeks and, though Raphael seemed to know exactly who was behind it, he hadn't told them anything. He had, however, instigated a curfew to the entire clan, much to everyone's dismay. Tara was still disgruntled about the whole thing; after all, she wasn't a teenaged mundane living in her parents' house while she was going to high school or something. She was a _vampire._ There wasn't much she couldn't handle. In her opinion, Raphael was freaking out about nothing. Those fledglings had probably run off to some other clan, tired as she was of Raphael's paranoid ramblings that someone was after him and his clan.

As she walked down the street alone, she felt a whoosh of air behind her and froze. "Raphael," she grumbled irritably. "I just text you and told you not to freak out—" She broke off. For standing behind her was not Raphael Santiago, but a younger-looking, blonde-haired girl. She couldn't have been more than fourteen. She looked lost.

Tara looked around to see if there was anyone else around that the girl could have belonged to, but the street was empty besides the two of them. The girl was alone.

There was an awkward silence between the two of them before Tara finally spoke, moving tentatively toward the girl, who didn't move. "Hey," she said stiffly. "You alright, there, kid?"

The girl didn't answer. Her eyes were examining Tara coldly and calculatingly. She was surprised that her own fangs had not slid into place in the presence of a mundane. Normally, they would sense the blood before she even made the conscious decision to bare them.

"Look, you shouldn't be hanging out in the streets this late at night, kid. You should go on home," Tara said, eyeing the girl carefully. She noted that the girl was wearing a low-cut red blouse—even though there wasn't much to show off—as well as a ruffled black mini skirt.

Tara finally caught the girl's gaze, and this time, the girl spoke, though not in response to what Tara had just said. "You called me Raphael," the girl stated calmly.

Though it hadn't been a question, Tara replied, "Yeah, sorry. I, um. . . I thought you were someone else."

"Oh, I know," the little girl said, a playful smile coming to her lips as she flipped her long, blond hair behind her. "You thought I was Raphael Santiago."

Tara furrowed her brow at her. "You know Raphael?"

"Of course I do. He's ruining everything, you know. People look at him as if he's the rightful leader of this clan after Camille's death. But he isn't. He has no more right to run you all than you do!" The girl's voice became angrier and louder, her hands balled up in fists by her sides.

Tara shook her head at the girl. "Who do you think you are, little girl? Raphael killed Camille because he knew she would destroy our clan. _He_ killed her and so _he_ is our leader."

This seemed to be the final straw for the girl. "Did he now? Is that what he's been telling you?" The girl snarled and Tara could see the needle-like fangs that she was flashing. "Raphael Santiago is just another of the clan, just as you are. You are _expendable._ And, if you wish to survive to see tomorrow, you'll swear your allegiance to me."

"Swear my allegiance?" Tara laughed at the incredulous thought. "I don't even know who you are, kid. You look like you just walked out of a Disney movie. So why would I swear my allegiance to you, turn my back on my family?"

"My name isn't 'kid'. It is Maureen Brown. And you will swear your allegiance because Raphael is not responsible for the death of Camille Belcourt. I am. And _I_ am the rightful leader of the Manhattan vampire clan. And you _will_ submit to me. Submit or die."

Tara threw her hand over her mouth as she howled with laughter. "You?" she managed to gasp in between bouts of giggles. "You think anyone's going to believe a _brat_ like you killed one of the oldest of our kind?"

Maureen growled inhumanly, throwing herself at Tara and catching her off guard. The two of them fell to the ground, Tara underneath Maureen. Her fangs finally slipped out and she hissed at Maureen who, surprisingly, was holding her in place remarkably well. "You will all listen to me. You will all submit to me." Maureen smiled maliciously. "Or I'll kill you. Each and every last one of you."

And then, Maureen reared back her head, her fangs bared and ready to strike, and Tara wished, certainly not for the first time but now for the last time, that she could call to God for mercy. And then, after not even a moment's hesitation, Maureen jumped down, teeth sinking into Tara's neck, and ripped out her throat and, for the first time in nearly twenty five years, she felt coldness spread all over her body.

 

Simon slammed the kitchen door shut behind him, running his hands through his hair. He couldn't believe how _stupid_ he had been to have hope. Even Magnus thought—

His train of thought was derailed by Isabelle's voice in the doorway. "Simon?" she said. Her voice wasn't exactly soft, but it wasn't exactly harsh either. It was understanding while also not being condescending. "Look, you know Magnus didn't mean that."

"But he did," Simon replied desperately. "Tell me, Isabelle. Am I. . ." he paused for a moment before continuing. "Am I stupid to think that we're going to get her back this time?"

Isabelle moved to stand in front of him, so close that he could feel her breath tickling his cheeks. "You're never stupid for hoping, Simon." She brought up a hand to stroke his face, but he pushed it away.

"But what if I'm wrong? What if something happens to her? What if it's worse than just death—?"

"Simon, stop. You aren't helping yourself right now. Or Clary, for that matter."

"That's just _it_ , though!" Simon exclaimed, tears filling his eyes. " _Nothing_ I can do will ever help her. She's always going to be in trouble. She's always going to be close to death, even if we somehow magically stop Sebastian—"

Isabelle grabbed Simon's face and, before he had even registered what was going to happen, she was kissing him. He tried to push her away, but she held on to him tightly, and he almost immediately stopped fighting, clinging to her as desperately as she clung to him. They were only like this for a few precious moments before a knock came on the door.

"Simon? Isabelle? Can I come in?" It was Maia.

Isabelle pulled away from Simon, blushing. "Yeah, sure."

The door opened slowly and Maia peered around it tentatively. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

Simon smiled warmly at her. "Of course not. We were just talking." He snuck a look over at Isabelle and winked at her.

"Good," Maia said, relieved, as she pushed the door the rest of the way open and walked into the room, closing the door behind her. "Are you okay, Simon?"

"I think I will be." He took Isabelle's hand, twining his fingers through hers. "How did you do, that by the way?" he asked Izzy. "You got me to calm down by kissing me."

Isabelle blushed a deeper red. "I don't know," she stuttered. "I just. . .did."

"Another one of your many talents." Simon pecked her on the cheek.

Maia smiled at them longingly, sitting on one of the stools that surrounded the kitchen island.

"Is something wrong?" Simon asked concernedly.

"No," she said quickly. "It's just. . . Well, I wish Jordan and I could be like that," she admitted.

"But you and Jordan are great together," asked Izzy, sitting on a stool next to Maia, Simon moving to sit on the other side of her. "What's wrong?"

Maia shrugged, leaning an elbow on the counter. "I don't really know. He's just been sort of distant lately. It hasn't just been with you, Simon. He's barely talked to me, he gets really angry all the time, and I feel like he just doesn't trust me anymore."

"Of course he trusts you, Maia," Isabelle said encouragingly. "Why would you think something like that?"

"Well. . . When we got the call to meet up here, we weren't together. Jordan got a call to go meet Praetor Scott off at the Praetor House. At least, that's what Jordan said. He didn't actually say too much. Just that Scott had a 'special job' for him. I don't believe him."

"Why don't you believe him?" Simon asked. "After what happened with Maureen and Nick, I'm sure the Praetor wanted to check in with their other agent in the city to see what was going on."

"That's not what I meant. I believe he went to meet Praetor Scott. But he wasn't going to the Praetor House." Upon seeing the questioning gazes directed toward her from Simon and Isabelle, she shrugged her shoulders and added, "When you guys called about meeting up here, Jordan still wasn't back, so I called his cell phone. When he didn't answer, I was really worried, especially after what had happened to Clary. So, I called the Praetor House and asked them if Jordan was still talking to Praetor Scott. They said Praetor Scott hadn't been there all day and had left early that morning and hadn't told anyone where he was going. I expected as much because of all of their secrecy, but I told them that it was urgent that I talked to Jordan as soon as possible and asked if he was still there. They said that he had never been there today or at all since I was with him last month."

"Why would he lie?" Simon inquired, not to Maia specifically, but to anyone who seemed to have the answer.

"I don't think he wanted to. He _wanted_ to tell me something the whole car ride over, I could tell. I think the Praetor is telling him to keep it a secret."

"But what would be so bad that he couldn't even tell us?" said Isabelle. "I mean, we're his friends."

"Yeah, but the Praetor are his pack," Maia replied grimly. "Your pack is more important than your own family. Your friends always come second to a direct order from a pack alpha like Scott."

"So," Simon said determinedly. "Looks like we need to figure out what Jordan's hiding."

"And why Scott wanted him to keep it from us," Isabelle added.

 

After the others had disappeared into the kitchen, Magnus had left to go to the study—a feature that was new to this layout of Magnus's apartment, one that was full of Magnus's spellbooks—ignoring Alec's protests as he went.

"Magnus," Alec called after his, following close behind. "Magnus, this is insane. There has to be another way." He stopped and leaned back on the desk, staying out of Magnus's way as he sifted through the hundreds of books and papers on the shelves to find the ones he needed. Magnus didn't seem to be listening at all.

"Magnus!" Alec exclaimed in exasperation, holding out his hand to wrap it around Magnus's arm to stop him. His voice was pleading desperately. "Please, just listen to me. You can't just _walk into Hell_. And even if you did, how would you guarantee that you would come back alive?"

Magnus waited a moment, thinking it over, and then shrugged off Alec's hand. "It's a risk we have to take, Alexander. A risk that _I_ am willing to take."

"Why? Why, after all of this, after everything we've been through, are you willing to throw all of it away, especially when you know that it probably won't work?"

"Is this about me visiting my father, Alec, or about what happened between us?" Magnus asked dryly, flicking through a thick leather-bound volume.

Alec was taken aback, back only hesitated a moment before he responded. "Maybe a little bit of both."

Magnus sighed and dropped the volume onto the floor of his study, along with a growing pile of other books he had already looked through and discarded. "Alec. . . I have to do this. Clary—"

"Yeah, I know, she's the one and only person you'd do this for, she's a weapon in Sebastian's hands, I get it. But what I don't get is why does it have to be you? I mean, I get it, it must be really hard to get to Hell and you are uniquely qualified to get there, but why can't you just open the portal or whatever it is you have to do and then let one of us go?"

"Because I just can't, Alexander. That's not the way things like this work and you know that." Magnus turned back to his shelves and his spellbooks, picking up yet another and flipping through its pages before determining that it, too, was useless, dropping it to the floor with the others."

"So that's it then?" said Alec, anger leaping into his voice. "You've just given up all other options? You're just going to walk willingly into your death without a second thought?"

"Why are you so positive that I'm going to die?" Magnus didn't look at him when he spoke. "He's my father, Alec, and I'm just going to ask a favor of him, he can either say yes or no. I very much doubt he'll try to kill me."

"But you don't know that! Magnus, have you even _considered_ anything else? Have you even _looked—_?"

"I've looked everywhere!" Magnus bellowed, turning to look at him. "This is my last resort Alec. Can't you see why I'm doing this? I've lived my life. I wouldn't even _care_ about the Shadowhunters or dying if it weren't for you! I am putting my life on the line to try to save this stupid world and you along with it!"

Alec was speechless. Magnus, finally finding the last text he needed, turned and headed back in the direction of the living room. He stopped in the doorway and spoke to Alec without facing him. "And you were wrong, by the way. Clary isn't the only person I'd do this for."

Magnus disappeared through the door, and Alec thought this over for a moment, realizing with a jolt exactly who Magnus had meant. Not Will or any of his other past relationships. Not Jace or any of the other Shadowhunters. There was only a handful of people who Magnus cared enough about to make such a sacrifice. And Alec knew, without Magnus expressly having said it that he made the list.

Alec joined Magnus in the living room, surprised to find that all the others, including Jace and Jordan, were already there, talking amongst themselves.

"Alright," Magnus, who was standing away from everyone else said, and the side conversations all died away. "So, who's ready to raise a little Hell?"

 


	9. Chapter 6: Lost and Found

“Mom?” Isabelle called hopefully as she strode into the kitchen, her shoulders slumping when she found it empty. She turned around, heading to regroup with the others in the hallway. When she got there, however, three of the boys had disappeared. “Where are Jace and Magnus and Simon?” Isabelle asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Jace can’t sit still, and neither can Magnus or Simon, apparently.” Alec said, looking up as she came over to him, while Maia and Jordan distanced themselves a little, walking just around the corner. “They were going to see if Mom and Dad were maybe in the weapons room. You have any luck?”

            “No. How about you?”

            “Is Mom standing next to me?” Alec snapped. Upon catching Isabelle’s surprised expression, he sighed and closed his eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—“

            “It’s okay. I understand,” she said reassuringly. “You have a lot on your mind right now.”

            Alec shrugged hesitantly. “It shouldn’t matter to me, you know. He broke up with me. We aren’t together anymore, so it’s not my job to worry about him.”

            Isabelle bit back the smile that was creeping toward her face. “But you still do anyway, don’t you?”

            Alec eyed her carefully, letting a small grin appear briefly on his face. “Of course I do.”

            “You still love him.”

            “I never stopped. I don’t think I ever could. I mean, I tried moving on. Nothing worked.”

            “Have you tried telling him that?”

            Alec, who looked uncomfortable talking about this, shrugged his shoulders again. “You really think that’d work? He hasn’t even answered my phone calls for a month. I never get a chance to talk to him.”

            “And yet, here he is, helping yet again with Shadowhunter problems that he doesn’t have to help with. I’d say that’s something.”

            “He’s not here for me. He’s here to get Clary back, to make sure she doesn’t become an apocalyptic weapon for Sebastian. He lives on the same Earth as me, that’s all.”

            “You can’t really think that’s all this is, can you?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Alec, he’s. . . How old is he? Like 800? Anyway, he’s lived more than one lifetime. He’s never struck me as the self-preservation type. He’s not doing this so he can survive. He’s doing this for all of us, but more importantly he’s doing this for you. Don’t forget that.”

            Alec stared at his sister, speechless. Isabelle threw a quick smile at him, before jumping up from the wall she’d been leaning against. “Alright, where in the name of the Angel are Mom and Dad? We’ve searched the kitchen, the cathedral, their bedroom, the library—“ She looked up at her brother. “Please tell me someone checked the library?”

            Alec’s eyes widened. “I thought you said you’d checked it!”

Isabelle rolled her eyes. “This is why we can’t have nice things, Alec. Because you forget about them!” She laughed and then continued. “I’ll go check. You go grab Jace and the others, wherever they’ve disappeared to.”

Alec nodded bashfully and Isabelle walked past him, down the hallway toward the Institute’s library.

“Oh, and Alec?” Izzy called back to her brother.

“Yeah?”

“Talk to Magnus. Don’t wait. You don’t want. . . Well, you wouldn’t want something to happen to him without you two knowing how you feel about each other.”

 

The halls of the Institute could be quite eerie when you were alone in them. Isabelle remembered how, when she was much younger growing up here, she would run screaming to her mother, swearing that the walls were whispering and breathing. Most of the time, she’d discover that it was just Jace and Alec playing tricks on her. But sometimes, even though Maryse had punished the boys for tricking her, they would still swear on the Angel that they hadn’t done anything, that the walls really were talking. Alec and Isabelle had read about ghosts in one of their lessons and had since thought that they were to blame for the whispers and unexplained noises around the old building. Jace, of course, thought the idea was ridiculous, citing that the old stone walls just carried voices through the halls.

Isabelle could hear whispers now, and it was clear that, at least this time, Jace was right. The voices were easily recognizable as her parents’. And they were arguing. As she drew closer to the library, Isabelle stepped softly so that she could make out the words between to two of them.

“Robert, you can’t do this. Our family—“

“You and I both know that we haven’t been a family for a long time now, Maryse.”

A pause.

“Take that back.” Maryse Lightwood’s voice didn’t waver, but Isabelle could hear the hurt behind the words.

“You know it’s true. I have an opportunity to redeem my family’s name and to make something of myself. Why is that so hard for you to accept?”

Isabelle had reached the door now and she hesitated a moment before reaching her hand up and knocking, the sound covering up whatever response her mother had said. She slid the door open slowly and immediately heard the voices stop.

“Mom?” she said, peeking her head around the door. “Dad?”

Isabelle’s mother stood behind her desk with her arms crossed over her chest, while Robert stood on the opposite side of the desk, hunched over it with his palms on the dark oak. They both looked up at her as she walked in, matching sour expressions on both of their faces.

“Mom? Is something wrong?”

Her mother hesitated. “No,” Robert answered for Maryse. “Nothing at all. In fact, I was just going out for some air.”

Isabelle’s father straightened up and stalked out of the room without a further word. Maryse called after him: “We’ll talk about this later, Robert.” Her husband gave no reply.

Isabelle entered the room the rest of the way, closing the door behind her and moving to stand where her father had just stood. “Mom, what’s going on?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Mom—“

“What did you need?”

“What?”

“You were looking for us. What did you need? And why did you and your brothers leave in such a hurry?”

“Um. . .” Isabelle replied, attempting to gather her thoughts. “We all needed to talk to you about something. Something important.”

“Who is ‘we all’?”

“Magnus, Maia, Jordan, Jace, Alec, Simon—“

“Well, seeing as Simon can’t enter the Institute, we’d have to have some kind of neutral meeting place, and I am just not up for that right now, Isabelle.”

“Actually, there’s something you should know about Simon. He kind of can come in the Institute.”

“That isn’t funny. He’s a vampire and this is consecrated ground. No sooner would I believe that the demon towers of Alicante are made of cotton candy than I would believe that a vampire—“ Maryse’s sentence was cut off when the door to the library opened a second time, in walking Jace, followed by Alec and Magnus, who appeared to be talking about something far different than a visit to Hell, and then Jordan and Maia. And Simon.

Isabelle turned back to see her mother’s stunned expression, complete with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. “ _By the Angel,_ ” Maryse whispered to herself.

 

After Maryse had recovered from her apparent heart attack at the sight of a vampire—not a projection, but an actual vampire—inside the Institute, they all sat down and allowed Magnus to explain his plan to her. When he was done, she looked even more shocked than she had when she’d first seen Simon walk through the door.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked finally.

“My question exactly,” grumbled Jace.

“We’re telling you,” Alec said pointedly, more at Jace than to his mother, “because we want the Clave to know. We want their approval in this.”

“What?”

“Look,” Isabelle added, “we have been doing things by ourselves for too long. The last time with the battle at the Seventh Sacred Site, the Clave didn’t even know what had happened until afterward. If Aline and Jia Penhallow hadn’t covered for us, we could have been in so much more trouble. And we were just in Ireland. What do you think the Clave would say if we went to _Hell_ to try to find Sebastian without telling them first?”

“And why would you think the Clave would agree to something like this?”

“Because,” said Alec, “eventually, they’re going to realize that finding Sebastian is not just _a_ priority, it is _the_ priority. And they are going to realize just how desperate they are, and Magnus is going to prove that to them.”

“Oh, so someone has to be desperate to be in need of my services.”

“Shut up!” chorused Jace, Isabelle, Maia and Jordan.

“Honestly,” Jace added. “We can’t do anything with you two anymore. You’re like children. And I don’t like when other people act like children, because it makes me have to act like an adult. Just stop this already. Make up, talk it out, whatever. Just stop fighting like an old married couple.” Isabelle didn’t miss the fact that all of the color drained from her mother’s face when Jace said this. “There are way more important things going on right now, don’t you think.”

Magnus, surprisingly, nodded. “Sorry. You’re right.” This, of course, gained the attention of everyone else in the room, but Magnus continued on uninterrupted. “You were saying, Alexander?”

Alec looked at him for a moment before turning back to his mother. “Look, I know you don’t trust him like I do, Mom—“

“I trust Magnus a great deal more than you might think, Alec,” Maryse said monotonously, sharing a knowing glance with Magnus.

“—and that’s okay,” Alec finished seamlessly, continuing on as if he might lose the nerve to say what he needed to say if he waited too long or thought about it. “But that’s why I think it’s best if I take this matter to the Clave myself. Personally.”

Isabelle shot a mutinous glare at her brother. “What? You mean go to Alicante?”

“No. Alec, we need you here.” Jace interjected urgently.

“I know, but someone has to tell the Clave, and if this is how it has to be—“

“No,” Maryse interrupted, staring down at the floor. “No one is going to Idris.”

“What?” replied Alec, dumbfounded. “Mom, someone has to go. We have to tell the Clave. We’re on such thin ice with them already. We can’t afford—“

“Which is why we aren’t going to tell them.”

“But, Mom,” worried Isabelle. “The law—“

“I’ve broken it before. If Valentine was right about one thing, it’s that the Clave needs to change. Not the way he wanted, but still changed. And we can’t do that by writing memos and putting motions forth in council meetings and always asking permission. Shadowhunters were created with the sworn duty of protecting the innocent people of this world from the evil that seeks to destroy them, an evil to which they are both oblivious and defenseless. The Clave was only created to aid that mission. But, if their laws prevent us from protecting people as much as it is needed, then the Clave’s laws must change. When I was younger, I made the mistake of trusting Valentine and the Circle. A month ago, I almost lost another one of my children because the Clave were not willing to see that he could be saved and ordered me to think the same. This time, the Clave’s mistakes and ignorance could cost every person on this planet their lives, because whatever it is Jonathan—no, Sebastian—is planning, I can assure you that he won’t distinguish between mundane or Shadowhunter or Downworlder. It will be the end of us all. I’ve made the mistake of letting innocent people get hurt and die before. I won’t be making that mistake again. The Clave will reject this no matter what you say, Alexander. But I will not. Go. Do what you have to do. Don’t let anything stop you.”

Jace’s expression was just as surprised as everyone else’s. “Well. That was. . .easier than I would have expected.”

“All of you,” Maryse said, standing up, “go. Be careful and be brave. You are stronger Shadowhunters then I ever was. I know you’ll do the right thing.”

As they all, with the exception of Maryse, started through the library door, Maryse called out to the. “May the Angel watch over you. All of you.”

Isabelle fell to the back of the group, and none of them seemed to notice when she closed the heavy wooden doors behind them, closing the library off from the hall and so leaving her alone with her mother.

 

Jocelyn lay in an unfamiliar bed with thick blankets covering her and fluffy pillows supporting her head, and she briefly wondered how she’d gotten here.

He head was killing her, blood pounding in her ears like a never-ending drumbeat. She groaned as she opened her eyes slowly.

“Jocelyn?” said a worried voice from beside her bed. Luke’s voice.

_Luke_. She’d been with Luke, at his house. But how did she end up here? Where _was_ here?

And then she remembered where she was. She was at the Institute. She’d come here because. . .

_Because of the phone call_ , she thought to herself. _I’m here because of my son. And because of my daughter. I came here looking for my daughter._

She shot up out of bed and Luke’s strong but gentle hands were nearly instantly on her shoulders, pushing her back down onto the sheets. “Hey,” Luke coaxed. “Shh. It’s alright. You’re okay. You’re in the Institute. Everything’s okay—“

“Clary,” Jocelyn said feverently, gasping for air. “Where is she, Luke? Where’s Clary?” When Luke didn’t respond immediately, Jocelyn slapped his hands away and screamed at him. “Where is she?” she cried. “Where’s my daughter?” Tears began to roll down Jocelyn’s face, and she fell back onto the bed, sobbing. “Where’s my baby?”

“Jocelyn,” Luke said softly. “Don’t worry. Everything—“

“Everything is _not_ going to be fine, Luke. Sebastian, my demon son, has my daughter. How can I not _worry_? How can you even say that?”

“She’s just as much my daughter as she is yours, Jocelyn. At least, she might as well be. I have been the only father she’s ever known. Of course I am worried out of my mind right now! But the Shadowhunter—Jace and Alec and the others—they have a plan. I just overheard them talking. I’ll spare you the gory details, but I can tell you that it’s a good plan. It’s a smart plan. And it’s the only plan we have left. I have faith in them. You just need to have a little faith, too.”

“Faith?” Jocelyn finally replied breathlessly.

“Faith,” Luke repeated firmly. “They’re going to find her. I trust them with my life.”

“But do trust them with _Clary’s_ life?”

“Jocelyn, I would trust these people with the life of every single person on this planet, including mine, yours, and Clary’s. They haven’t let me down yet and, until they do, I’m not going to stop believing in them.”

Jocelyn nodded reluctantly, wiping tears from her face. Then, unexpectedly, she smiled up at Luke. “You know,” she said, “if things had going as planned, you _would_ be her father right now. If only her step-father.”

Luke took Jocelyn’s hands. “I will always be whatever she needs me to be. If she needs me to be a father, then I will be her father. I don’t need any paperwork that proves it.”

Jocelyn dropped her gaze from his. “So you’ve given up on marriage completely?” she asked, defeated.

“No, of course not!” he answered quickly.

“Then let’s do it right now,” Jocelyn said, here eyes wide and slightly crazed. “Marry me today, right now.”

“What?” Luke responded, bewildered.

“We can’t wait anymore. If we wait for everything to be better again before our wedding, we’ll never be married.”

Luke sighed, raising a hand to cup Jocelyn’s face. “I’ll tell you what. We’ll get married when Clary comes back. I promise. As soon as she is home and safe, I would be honored for you to become my wife. Okay?”

Jocelyn smiled up at him and nodded. “Okay.”

Luke beamed back at her. “Okay,” he repeated, leaning forward to kiss her on the forehead. “Now, get some rest, please?”

“And you’ll stay here?”

“I’ll always stay right by your side, Jocelyn. I always have and I always will. You never have to worry about me.”

Jocelyn settled back into the bed comfortably and let her eyes slip closed. “I know,” she murmured, sleep already overtaking her once more. “I know.”

 

“Mom.” Isabelle’s voice rang through the eerily quiet library. Her mother, who hadn’t noticed that her daughter was still in the room, turned to face her, startled. “What’s going on?”

Maryse shook her head. “I told you,” she stammered, “the Clave—“

“This isn’t about the Clave, though, is it, Mother? A month ago, you would have bitten my head off for saying anything like that. You’ve been acting so weird since dad got back. So what’s going on between you two?”

“Leave it alone, Isabelle,” her mother warned.

“I can’t just _leave it alone_ , Mom. This has to do with me and Alec, too. You’re just lucky that he and Jace have had more important things on their minds lately than paying attention to your crazy, random mood swings.” Isabelle gasped. “You aren’t pregnant, are you?”

Maryse rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then what’s going on? Why won’t you just tell me?”

Maryse sat down in the large chair behind Hodge’s old desk, sighing. “Your father is returning to Idris,” she replied finally.

Isabelle failed to see why this would be troubling her mother as much as it seemed to. “Okay. For how long?”

“You misunderstand me. Your father is returning to Idris, and this time he’s staying. Permanently.”

“We’re moving to Idris? But what about the Institute? What about—?”

Maryse waved a hand, cutting her off. “Not _we_ , Isabelle. _He._ Your father will be returning to Idris alone. Unless you choose to go with him.”

“You mean, I have to _choose_? Live in Idris with Dad or stay here with you? But, if I leave, wouldn’t you be all alone here?” Isabelle answered uneasily.

“You’re only sixteen, Isabelle. So yes, you must stay with one of us. It is, however, entirely your choice which one.”

“What about Alec?”

“Alec is eighteen. He can do as he wishes. He may go wherever he chooses. This choice is entirely up to you.”

“And Jace? What about him?”

“Legally, Jace is a ward of this Institute until his eighteenth birthday, no matter who runs it. He’ll be staying here, unless the Clave decide to send him to Idris.”

Isabelle fell into the chair opposite her mother. “But why is Dad leaving us?” she asked softly.

“After the Mortal War, your father stayed in Idris. Do you remember what for?”

Isabelle nodded. “Dad put his name in for the Inquisitor’s position. But he came back. I just assumed it meant he’d been turned down for the job.”

Maryse looked away and Isabelle swore that she saw a stray tear fall down her cheek. “The decision has been in a long deliberation among the Council. Your father came back only to make sure that Jace was alright after the battle. And to talk to me about what was happening. We’ve been trying to keep everything as normal as we could since then, but I guess, judging from what you said, we haven’t been as covert as we led ourselves to believe. And then, last night, right before Jocelyn arrived, Robert got a fire message from the Clave and he rushed off to read it without so much as another word to me. After Jocelyn was asleep, I returned to the library where I found him waiting. He gave me the letter to read. It said that he had been elected as the Inquisitor to the Clave and that he needed to return to Idris as soon as possible. He’ll be leaving tomorrow night.”

“So soon?” Isabelle’s voice hiked up an octave.

“The Consul said that the Clave needed him urgently and he wasn’t going to argue.”

“Is that why you want us to break the law?” Isabelle asked coldly, jumping up from her chair and staring down at Maryse. “Please tell me that’s not why you want us to break the law.”

“Of course not! Isabelle—“

“By the Angel, it is! It _is_ why you want us to break the law! All of those things you said earlier, they were all just words to you, weren’t they? Because you and I both know that the real reason you said any of that was because you want the Institute and Dad to get in trouble so he’ll lose the job.”

“No, that’s not it at all, Isabelle. Please, you have to trust me—“

“Trust you? How can I trust you when you just lied to my face, lied to all of our faces. Do you even realize that Jace and Simon both love Clary? If they lost her, they’d both be devastated. And yet you’re using her disappearance to your own selfish advantage.”

“Isabelle Sophia Lightwood, stop right now and just listen to me!” Maryse commanded pleadingly, her voice cracking. Isabelle’s heart sank in her chest—Maryse _never_ used her entire name, not even when she was extremely angry with her. “I believe in the cause every Shadowhunter serves, which is to protect the innocent. The Clave and its blind ignorance have cost me so much. After the Uprising, we were exiled from Alicante, only able to return when summoned by the Clave. The Clave has lost me friends and family and now even my son—“ Maryse’s hand flew to her mouth as her voice failed her, and Isabelle watched as a few tears made their way past her mother’s eyelids and slid down her face.

“Mom. . .” Isabelle began despairingly, rushing to her mother’s side and throwing her arms around Maryse’s neck. Maryse hugged her back briefly and then pulled back, still holding on to her daughter’s forearm.

“The Clave has taken everything from me, Isabelle. The Shadowhunter are no longer able to function the way they were meant to because of the Covenant laws. The Clave has ruined my life as well as the lives of countless other Shadowhunters. But I won’t stand by and watch as they let billions of people die and let this world be consumed by Hellfire rather than setting their egos aside long enough to figure out what truly needs to be done.”

Isabelle looked up into her mother’s tear-filled eyes and felt a sudden, icy hatred flow through her veins.

Sebastian had done this. Sebastian had killed her brother. Sebastian had torn her family in half. Not only that, he had torn the Clave nearly to the point of civil war. Sebastian had made her mother, one of the strongest people she knew, cry. But no more.

Isabelle set her jaw with resolve, standing up and staring down at her mother’s puffy, red eyes.

“That’s not going to happen. This world will be just fine. I’m going to make sure of it. I promise, Mom. I’m not going to let anything happen.”

Maryse smiled weakly at her daughter. “I know you won’t. You’re too much like me.”

“Gorgeous and brilliant?” Isabelle asked, flipping her long hair over her shoulder.

“I was thinking ‘stubborn and won’t take no for an answer.’ But gorgeous and brilliant too.”

“Both valid arguments, actually.” Isabelle beamed at her mother momentarily before turning to leave the room. As she reached the door, though, her mother called out to her.

“Isabelle,” she said, and Izzy spun around to face her.

“Yeah?”

“Be careful. Please. And. . .” Maryse hesitated.

“What?”

“You and Simon watch out for each other.”

Isabelle’s eyes widened and her cheeks flushed. “Simon? Why—?”

“I see the way you look at each other. It’s the same look I see when Jace looks at Clary or when Jocelyn looks at Lucian. It’s the way your father and I look—looked—at each other, once upon a time. Don’t let him go. Keep him close.”

Isabelle’s eyebrow shot up inquisitively. “I thought you hate me dating Downworlders?”

“I’ve had time to reconsider lately. If Simon makes you truly happy, then who am I to keep you two apart?”

Isabelle just nodded and smiled at her mother meekly. “Thank you, Mom.”

“I love you, Isabelle. You know that, right?”

“Of course.” Isabelle realized belatedly that her mother’s voice made her words sound like a goodbye. “Mom, I’ll be alright. We all will. We’re Lightwoods. We’re always doing stupid things, but nothing’s managed to kill us yet.”

 

"What if we just did it without the Clave's approval?" asked Maia. "How much trouble would we be in?"

"More than ever," Alec replied. "The Clave barely trusts us anymore."

"It's been this bad before," Jace reasoned. "Come on, the Clave hasn't trusted us for a long time, if they ever did."

"With good reason, Jace! We never report to them for anything until it's too late or we've already done it. If we did something like _this_ without their permission, we'd lost any faith they might still have with us.  We would lose _everything_. We'd lose the Institute, get our marks stripped—"

"I'd rather live as a mundane with Clary next to me than live as a Shadowhunter with her dead, or worse. I would give _everything_ up to get her back."

"But you don't _have_ to Jace. So Mom won't tell them. Fine. I will."

"No," said a voice from behind them, and they all turned to see Isabelle, face stony with determination, closing the short distance between them and the library door from which she had just emerged.

"Isabelle?" Alec replied, shaking his head. "What do you mean 'no'? Mom's crazy. We can't listen to her—"

"She's not crazy," Isabelle countered defensively. "Alec, there are things you don't realize and things that you don't know. I don't have time to tell you about them all right now, so you'll just have to trust me. But we _are_ going to do this and we aren't going to stand around waiting for the Clave's approval." Isabelle sighed upon seeing Alec's expression and, when she continued, her tone was softer. "Look, I don't expect all of you to agree with me. And I'm not going to be responsible for ruining anyone else's life or his or her relationship with Clave except me. That's why you two should go." Isabelle indicated Maia and Jordan with her fingers.

"What?" Maia exclaimed indignantly, though Jordan stood silently beside her, exchanging a glance with Jace. "But we can help—"

"Isabelle's right," Jace interrupted, "as much as it pains me to say."

Maia opened her mouth to say something, but Jace continued nevertheless. "You two are in good standing with the Clave right now. If something goes wrong with this and the Clave finds out, you two don't need to be caught in the middle of it. We're Shadowhunters. It's our job to fight. We were born into this. You weren't. I appreciate your help but there's nothing you can do right now. I _promise_ that we'll call when there's something you can do," Jace finished imploringly, and Alec stared at him. for he's never known Jace to be imploring—Jace had always been the person that took what he wanted and wouldn't let anyone oppose his decisions. This new side of him had been a recent change, one that Alec started to see right around the time that Jace came home from the battle at the Seventh Sacred Site.

"Magnus and Simon aren't Shadowhunters, either!"

Before Jace could form a reply, Magnus was already speaking. "I am an 800 year old warlock that happens to be their ticket into Hell. I doubt they're worried about me, Maia."

Jordan and Maia gawked at him, and Alec realized that he was one of the only people to whom Magnus had ever confided his age.

"800?" asked Maia meekly.

"You don't look a day over. . . 750. I swear. You look great, man. Really. . ." Jordan  trailed off awkwardly.

"Anyway," Jace said, bringing their collective train of thought back from derailment. "See, Maia? Magnus has to come. And Simon. . ." Jace trailed off looking over at Simon, who was staring expectantly back at the blond boy. "Simon's staying here at the Institute. He's not coming with us."

"What?" demanded Simon and Isabelle simultaneously.

"Simon—"

"No way in _Hell_ am I staying here, Jace. She's _my_ best friend."

"You're a vampire, Simon, _just_ a vampire. You don't even have the Mark of Cain anymore. It's too dangerous for you to come."

"You can't do this! You can't keep shutting me out of her life. As it is, I've barely seen her in a month with you keeping her locked up in the Institute. Like you said, I'm a _vampire_. I'm not exactly allowed onto hallowed ground."

"This must be one Hell of a projection I'm looking, then, because it looks like you're in the Institute right now and you aren't exactly burning to a crisp."

" _Before_ that, Jace. Come on. You don't have to be the Lone Ranger in this." When Jace responded with a blank expression, Simon rolled his eyes and sighed. "Never mind, you poor, culturally-deprived soul. What I meant is that you guys don't have to go into this alone. We can help—"

"No!" Jace bellowed, making Maia, who was still standing next to him, jump. "Look, Simon, you've been imprisoned by the Clave before, back in Idris."

"Don't remind me," Simon muttered under his breath before raising his voice again and continuing. "But, Jace, that was Aldertree. He was insane—"

"It doesn't matter. He was a member of the Clave, the Inquisitor elected to his position by the Council members. Don't be fooled by those four council seats, Simon. The Clave will still thrust one of their own over a Downworlder any day, no matter how screwed up and wrong their Shadowhunter is, or was."

"Guess you mom was right," said Jordan distantly, and Alec noted the hint of guilt that he carried in his voice, wondering what he had to feel _guilty_ about. "The Clave are corrupt."

"Not corrupt, really," Alec reassured him. "They're just stuck in the past and they're afraid of change, that's all. We need a way to convince them that change is not always bad. The problem is that they're so stubborn that it won't by any means come easy, and they may very well just ignore us."

"And despite all of that," Isabelle said pointedly, "they still have control over all of the world's Shadowhunters and crossing them by allying with us for something like this could mean a cell with your name on it in the Silent City. Or worse. Please don't be stupid about this. We promise that, if we all survive this and we find Sebastian, we will call you three in and ask for your help."

"'Three'?" Simon shouted vehemently. "Come on, Iz, not you too!"

Isabelle's expression softened and her eyes were sad as she looked at Simon. "Simon, I'm sorry. But I won't let you risk yourself like this. I can't stand the thought of what the Clave might do to you. Please understand. This is me watching for you. This is me keeping you close."

Simon seemed about to argue, but instead pulled the wide-eyed girl into his arms, holding her and reassuring her. "Okay," he said simply, taking her head in his. "Okay."

Jace nodded at Simon appreciatively, then dropped his gaze on Maia. "What about you?" he asked.

Maia crossed he arms over her chest. "I don't like this," she said, "being out of the loop. But, I guess I don't have a choice."

Isabelle turned around in Simon's arms and smiled down at the other girl. "Thank you."

Now, all six pairs of eyes fell on Jordan, who immediately threw his hands in the air, surrendering. "Yes, okay. I'll stay out of the way. Just please don't start hugging me and guilting me."

Isabelle and Maia beamed graciously at him, while Simon just nodded to him. Isabelle clapped her hands together then and started calling out instructions. "Right! So, Simon, you can help my mother try to find a way to keep Jocelyn calm. Maia, Luke already knows what's going on with Clary. Why don't you go to the police station and check in with pack?" Maia nodded and Isabelle continued, turning to Jordan. "And you can—"

"Actually," Jordan said uneasily, "I think I know where I need to be. Who knows? Maybe I can get some help, too."

"From where? The Praetor Lupus won't help us," Simon replied, looking first from Isabelle to Maia and then finally back to Jordan.

"You'll just have to trust me on this." Jordan, Alec thought to himself, was clearly not going to reveal his secret willingly, and his voice was pleading for the others to be alright with that.

"Go," Alec said. "Get whatever help you can. If we're going to fight good _and_ evil this time, we're going to need reinforcements. A lot of them."

Jordan nodded to him, a silent thanks, and Jace jumped off the wall he had been leaning on and said, "Let's get to work, then. Maia, Simon, Jordan, do what you have to. And Isabelle, Alec, Magnus, you come with me. Let's go get everything we need to go to Hell."

Simon snorted.

"Everything alright over there, vampire?" Magnus inquired dryly.

"Nothing," he said failing to stifle his laughter. "It's just that I've been telling you all to go to Hell for months. Now that you're actually going, I think I've changed my mind."

"Aw," Jace mocked. "Are you finally going to profess your _undying_ love for me, Daylighter?"

Simon scoffed. "Please. First of all, all of my love is 'undying', so to speak. Secondly, if I were going to come out of the closet today and profess my live to any of the guys in the room, it'd be Jordan. I mean, we already live together. It's not that far of a step."

Jordan's eyes bulged out of his head. "What?"

"Relax," Simon replied, somewhat exasperatedly. "It was just a joke. Besides, you're already spoken for."

"Yes," Maia said, wrapping a tan arm around Jordan's waist and smiling. "He is very spoken for."

"Yeah, well," Isabelle added, reaching both arms around Simon's torso from behind. "So are you, Lewis."

Only a few minutes later, the group had split up, everyone going his own way. Isabelle had allowed her brother and Magnus to disappear off  to the weapons room, staying behind so that she could say goodbye to Simon alone. She was just leaning in to kiss him when Maia's blood-curdling shriek filled the Institute.

Simon gave Isabelle a worried glance before rushing off in the direction of Maia's voice. Behind him, he heard other footsteps and Isabelle's frantic voice talking to her mother, who had rushed out of the library when Maia had screamed.

"What's going on?" Maryse was asking.

"I don't know," Isabelle replied, but the rest of their conversation was lost to Simon as he raced further and further ahead of them, taking the spiral staircase down to the cathedral rather than waiting on the old, groaning elevator to make the descent.

He burst through the door at the bottom of the stairs and rushed over to the open door where Jordan stood. As Simon reached him, he saw that his face was white as a sheet. He followed his gaze to see Maia sitting on the steps of the Institute and froze.

Because Maia wasn't alone. In her arms was a unconscious and barely breathing pale figure, cuts and bruises covering her skin and blood matting down her fiery-red curls.

_Clary_.


	10. 7: With Friends Like These

Simon heard a clamor behind him and felt as Jace pushed him to the side, the normally-sarcastic and close-hearted boy falling to his knees beside Maia and Clary.

"Clary," Jace said, as if she were an angel; his long lost angel that had been returned to him. His eyes shot up to Maia. "What happened?" he demanded.

"She was there when I opened the door," Maia breathed, the shock still apparent on her face. "I don't know how she got here. I just opened the door and saw her and she looked like was going to pass out so I reached out to help her steady and she just collapsed."

Jordan crouched down beside Maia, holding her shoulders. "It's not your fault. It's okay. Maia, look at me. Focus." But Maia's eyes had glazed over and Jordan pulled her gently away from Clary while Jace pulled the latter off the ground and into his lap. 

"Clary? Can you hear me?" Jace's face was full of concern as cupped Clary's face in his hands.

Clary didn't respond—she was out cold.

"Jace," Alec began, having finally, along with Magnus, caught up and appeared in the Institute doorway. "Jace, is she okay?"

"She's not waking up," Jace replied, his eyes wide, "and she's barely breathing."

"Put an _iratze_ on her," Isabelle suggested, slightly breathless, as she too joined the group of people in the foyer.

Jace reached into his pocket, careful not to jostle Clary too much, and pulled out his stele, drawing the healing rune on her upper arm. As soon as the mark had been drawn, it began to fade, only healing a couple of the smaller cuts and bruises on Clary's pale skin.

"Why isn't it working?" Simon asked anxiously.

"I don't know," Jace put his fingers on Clary's throat, and Simon, after watching his mother take care of his father for so long, recognized that he was taking her pulse. Jace removed his hand and sighed. "She must have demon blood in her system or something. The rune isn't working. It doesn't make sense, though. Her pulse is strong. So why won't she just wake up?"

"Jace," Magnus piped in, "get her to the infirmary. I'll take care of the rest."

Jace didn't move at first.

"Jace," Alec said, kneeling down and putting a hand on his _parabatai_ 's shoulder. "Jace, he can help her. Come on. She's going to be alright, but we have to get her inside now."

Jace met Alec's eyes and nodded slowly, sliding an arm under Clary's knees, his other arm reaching around her back, and standing up carefully, lifting Clary's limp body along with him.

 

"You should relax a little," Alec told Jace, who was busy wearing through the soles of his shoes pacing back and forth outside the infirmary. Inside, Maryse and Magnus were hovering over Clary, trying to give her everything she needed to regain consciousness again. After Jace had brought Clary up to the infirmary and laid her down in one of the cold iron bunks, they had waved him away, and he and Alec had been sitting in the hallway outside ever since. That had been nearly half an hour ago.

"Relax? The Angel only knows what Sebastian did to her, Alec. You saw how bad a shape she was in when she got here. The _iratze_ only fixed so much. She's still not awake."

"But she _will_ be," Alec countered reassuringly. "She's in good hands."

Jace sighed and sat next to Alec on the small, hard wooden bench opposite the infirmary door. Though this put an end to his pacing, he was still on edge, tapping his fingertips anxiously on his kneecap. "I guess this is good news for you two, right?" he said, trying to keep the conversation light, but hearing his own anxiety in his voice as he spoke.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Magnus is kind of off the hook. He doesn't have to go to a demon dimension to talk to his father now. He isn't walking into a highly likely death tomorrow. Now that Clary's back, he doesn't have to worry about it."

"I guess so," Alec replied evasively.

"But it still bothers you, doesn't it?" Jace questioned apprehensively.

"I don't know what you mean." Alec stood up, blatantly avoiding Jace's eye contact.

"It bothers you that he was willing to die. Because, in your mind, it meant that he had nothing to live for, not even you."

"Jace, I didn't ask for a psychological evaluation," Alec worked in irritably, but Jace continued without hearing him.

"You're wrong, Alec. It's not that simple. He wasn't going to risk his life because you aren't worth living for. He was doing it because you were worth dying for."

Now Alec looked apprehensively down at Jace. "How can you be sure?"

Jace stood back up, closing the distance between him and his brother until they were only a few inches apart. "Because I felt the same thing when I thought I might lose Clary. When you love someone, that love is the reason you keep going, keep fighting. That person is the reason you want to keep living, the reason you bother to get out of bed in the morning. But when you're faced with the idea of losing that person, it becomes something even deeper, something darker. Your love is the reason you want to keep living. So, when the idea comes into play that _they_ might not be living much longer, a new instinct kicks in. Without them, you don't have a reason to keep living, and so you're willing to do anything to save them, even die. Because, without them, you're as good as dead anyway."

Jace and Alec stood in the same position for a few seconds before the door to the infirmary opened and Maryse stepped out. "Oh, am I interrupting something?"

"Nothing," Alec said quickly, backing away from Jace.

"How is she?" Jace asked.

"She's awake. And she's asking for you."

 

Clary sat up in the white sheets of the infirmary bed, still wearing the blood-spattered clothes she'd worn when they'd found her. Jace sat by her side, holding her hand. Around them sat a motley crew of people. Maryse sat next to Isabelle on a bed opposite Clary's while Alec and Magnus stood next to each other leaning against the wall behind the chair in which Jace sat. Simon, Maia, and Jordan sat on the bed directly next to Clary's, on the opposite side from Jace, Alec, and Magnus.

"Look at that," Clary said weakly, her eyes still drooping as if she wasn't fully awake. "The gang's all here. Even. . . Simon? But how—?"

Simon laughed. "Long story. I'll tell you when you get back on your feet, Fray."

"Who would have thought that we'd all survive to be sitting here together?" Isabelle said, reminiscing.

"Hey, some of us haven't survived," Jace replied with a dark sense of humor. "I would like to point out that I have been dead before, thank you very much."

Soft laughs and chuckles carried through the room. "Oh, I guess you've started without us," said a deep voice, and everyone looked up to see Luke and Jocelyn standing together in the doorway.

"Clary," Jocelyn breathed, and ran to her daughter, Luke following slowly behind her. Jocelyn sat on the bed next to Clary, pulling her into a tight hug, and Clary winced in pain, embracing Jocelyn awkwardly.

Luke put a hand on Jocelyn's shoulder. "Easy, Jocelyn. I'm sure Clary's still a little sore."

Jocelyn pulled back and gave an apologetic glance at her daughter. "Sorry. I just. . . I thought. . .." Tears started rolling down Jocelyn's face. Clary reached out and put a hand on her mother's arm.

"I'm okay, Mom," she said, catching her mother's gaze. "I'm going to be fine."

Jocelyn nodded, smiling, and moved to sit at the foot of the bed while Luke stood next to her.

"When did you get here, Lucian?" asked Maryse, her lips pursed in disapproval. "I don't remember extending an invitation."

"Funny, because I don't remember accepting one either," Luke replied dryly. Before Maryse could protest, he continued. "Wherever Jocelyn goes, I go. Or have you forgotten that we're supposed to be married soon?"

"Will you two shut up?" Isabelle said exasperatedly, turning to her mother. "Honestly, you're worse than Alec and Magnus. Why do you two hate each other so much? You're always at each other's throats about something. Do you think you can give it a rest after sixteen years? It's supposed to be a happy day. Clary's back, and we can all breathe a little easier. So just shut up or leave."

Luke and Maryse fell silent, and Jace nodded gratefully at Isabelle before turning back to the girl in the bed. "Clary," he started cautiously, "I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but. . . How did you get here? How did you get away Sebastian?"

"Why wouldn't I talk about it?" Clary asked, honestly unsure.

Jace knit his eyebrows together and exchanged looks with several other people in the room, all of whom seemed as shocked at her response as he was. He turned back to Clary. "Because you just went through something traumatic, I'm sure. You probably don't want to relive all of that."

"I'm a Shadowhunter, Jace," Clary replied plainly, as if the others were being ridiculous in their thinking that she was emotionally unstable. "I'm fine. Let the past go and focus on the future, right? You guys need to catch Jonathan, and my story can help you. I know that. I just don't know what I can tell you. It's all a really big blur. And I never saw where we were. I just got out of there as fast as I could."

"Yeah, but. . . How? Clary, Sebastian's always careful. How did you get past him?"

"You're right. My brother is always careful. But he's also always conceited, self-assured, and overconfident. He didn't even notice that the manacles he had around my wrists and ankles were coming unscrewed."

"The _what_?" Jocelyn asked, horrified.

"Jocelyn," Maryse said, "maybe you don't need to hear all of this. Why don't you wait outside?"

"I'm not leaving her again," Jocelyn replied fiercely.

"Mom," said Clary, and Jocelyn turned to look at her daughter. "She's right. You don't need to hear this and you know you don't want to."

Jocelyn was taken aback. "Clary, I—"

"Go. I'll be fine. Luke, you should go with her." Luke looked inclined to disagree, but lead Jocelyn from the room without a fuss.

Clary watched them go, waiting for the door to shut behind them before she spoke again. "So, where should I start?"

"Well, you were saying something about manacles?" Jace said with some difficulty, his mind coming up with thousands of horrible situations in which Clary could have been with Sebastian.

Clary told them all about Sebastian, the chair, and the Infernal Cup and how her brother had tried to make her drink the thick, black fluid that was in it.

"When I realized that one of the manacles was loose, I knew that I just had to fight him off for a few more minutes before I could get free and find a way out. Sebastian had gotten angry and turned his back to go pick up a knife of the dresser. While he was distracted, I managed to pull up all four of the cuffs without him seeing. When he turned back around, I jumped him. During the fight, the knife nicked me a couple of times and, at one point, Jonathan grabbed me by the back of my neck and slammed my head against the ground before he pulled out some syringe and tried to give me something that should have knocked me out, but I was able to pull away before too much of it got in my system. Still, I think I got a concussion and that, in combination with whatever he'd given me, was making me really dizzy. Eventually, I was able to grab Jonathan's stele from his weapons belt and run to lock myself in the bathroom. I actually nearly passed out before I could even do anything. My brother was yelling and beating on the door and it sounded like the wood was breaking apart. I was finally able to muster up the strength to portal out of there to come here to the Institute. And then it's all kind of blurry. I don't remember anything else until I woke up here, with Magnus just staring at me like I was an animal in a zoo."

Jace looked up at Magnus, who threw his hands up defensively. "Hey, I was just waiting to see if she'd wake up. Which she did. You're welcome, by the way."

"Yeah, the Institute can foot the bill for your services," Jace said, rolling his eyes and turning back to Clary. "Clary, there's just one thing that doesn't make sense to me. When we found you, I tried to put an _iratze_ on you, but it faded almost instantly and it didn't wake you up. It healed all of your bruises and cuts, but it didn't help you wake up. I don't think it helped with your head injury."

"It didn't," Maryse supplied. "But she's fine now, Jace. I checked on her thoroughly. She's just fine now."

"But why didn't the rune work?"

"Maybe what Sebastian gave me in the vial was some demon sedative or something? Or maybe it was whatever her used to knock me out in the first place to bring me there. Jace, I really don't know."

"But you must remember something," Jace insisted.

"Jace, please." Clary's voice was weary and tired. "I don't know. You have to trust me. I would tell you if I could, but I can't."

"Well, my job's done," said Magnus as he straightened up from his place on the wall. "I'll send you the bill. Alec, can I talk to you for a moment?" He didn't wait for a response.

As Magnus exited, followed a moment later by Alec, Jace turned back to Clary in time to catch her glare; she was watching Magnus and Alec cautiously, her eyes narrowed at them as if they'd committed an unspeakable crime against her.

"Clary? What is it? What's wrong?"

Clary glanced around the room at the others, finally bringing her eyes back to meet Jace's. The rest of the room looked on anxiously, concerned after hearing Jace's worried tone saying Clary's name. "I need them to leave," Clary whispered. "All of them. There's something I have to tell you, but we have to be alone."

Jace hesitated, though he wasn't sure why, before turning and giving a reassuring nod to the five other people in the room. "It's okay. Just give us a couple of minutes. Then you can continue all of your fussing over her."

When the last of them—Simon, who looked mildly cautious  about leaving Clary—had closed the door behind him, Jace felt Clary's hand on his arm tighten, her other hand reaching up to grab his shirt, pulling him to where they were almost nose to nose with each other.

"Jace, Jonathan said something to me that you need to hear."

Jace, sputtering, replied, "About what? About Magnus? About Alec?"

"No. I mean, I don't know for sure. Maybe," Clary said with a frightening sense of urgency. She shook her head and pulled Jace even closer. "Listen, Jace. My brother has people _everywhere_. When I was hiding in the bathroom, trying to draw the portal, he was on the other side, screaming at me that there was nowhere I could go on this Earth where he couldn't find me, nowhere I can go where he won't be watching. Not the Institute, not the Clave, not even to Alicante. He's infiltrated the Clave. I don't know who to trust."

Jace waited a moment before he spoke. "So why are you trusting me?"

Clary's mouth quirked up in a sad grin. "Because if he'd gotten you to turn , I'd rather turn along with you than lose you to him and have fight against you."

"And Magnus and Alec?"

"It's Magnus I don't trust, Jace, and you shouldn't either. Think about it: he's one of the most powerful warlocks in the world _and_ he has ties to the Institute. He could be using Alec, he could be using all of you, and you wouldn't even know it."

"Magnus wouldn't do that. Clary, if you'd seen the way he acted when you were gone—"

"Exactly. _Acted_. He's over 800 years old. I'm sure he's picked up some amazing acting skills in all that time. I'm not saying I'm sure about him. I'm just saying. . . If you care about Alec, keep him away from Magnus right now." Clary's eyes moved once again to the closed infirmary doors through which Magnus and Alec had just left. "Just be careful who you trust right now, Jace. Better yet, don't trust anyone."

 

Caterina sat in a plush arm chair in a darkened bedroom. The tall-stemmed glass in her hand held a red liquid, much thicker than any wine. A fire burned in the fireplace, warming the space and keeping the cold of the coming winter at bay. She turned to look at Sebastian, lying on the bed. He was shirtless, and even in the dim light the old whip weals across his back were visible. She had always been fascinated by Shadowhunters but had never thought she would find one whose personality she could stand for more than five minutes, until Sebastian. He was different. He wasn’t one of them. He didn’t put himself above Downworlders like the others did. He was polite and kind when he needed to be, and dark and sexy when he really wanted to be. Like the night before.

Now, she was sitting and waiting patiently for him to wake up. She looked down at the glass in her hand and swirled the blood in it before taking a sip.

"Using my good crystal glasses for blood again, are we?" said a voice from behind her, and she turned to see Sebastian standing behind the chair, his hands on either side of the back. He'd moved more quickly and silently than any other Shadowhunter she'd ever met. Then again, he wasn't just any Shadowhunter. "You know, that stuff stains."

Caterina smiled sultrily, setting her wine glass on the small table beside the chair. She rose from the chair, turning to face Sebastian, her bottom lip pouting playfully. “Apologies, my love.”

Sebastian’s eyes raked over her greedily as she moved forward, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him close. “Whose blood might that be?”

Caterina reached down and picked up Sebastian’s left hand, holding it too her lips. A buzz went through her body and made her feel dizzy. “You are immune to my glamours. I’m sure you remember.”

A dark smile curved the white-blond boy’s lips. “Of course _I_ do. I just wanted to see if you did.”

The vampire cocked her head to the side and dropped his hand. A sharp pain was forming in the back of her head, and she was even dizzier now. Her stomach lurched and she felt as if she might be sick. Still, she did not let any signs of this weakness known to the Shadowhunter before her. “Why would I not remember?”

“You can feel it, can’t you?” Sebastian watched her, the smirk on his face turning darker and nastier as her knees buckled under her and she reached out to grab the table for support, knocking the glass of blood off as she collapsed, gasping for air. “The holy water, poisoning your blood? Setting every cell in your body on fire? Harmless to someone like me, it just sits in my bloodstream. Waiting for someone like you to come along and drink it.”

Caterina lay gasping on the floor, her veins burning with the blessed holy water spreading through them. “Why?” she choked out. “I helped you. I did everything you asked.”

“Yes,” Sebastian replied, leaning down and hovering over her body. “You did.”

“Then why?”

“Because you already did everything I asked,” he said, as if it were the most obvious conclusion in the world. “Because you’ve run out of use to me.”

“You still need me,” she croaked. “You still need a vampire—“

“He already has one, sweetheart,” said a nasally, high-pitched voice from the doorway, and Caterina managed to move her head to see a young blond girl before her. She was wearing a tight, low-cut red blouse covered by a leather jack with leather pants and heels that could have been used to kill a person. For all Caterina knew, they _had_ been used to kill a person, maybe even multiple people.

Sebastian looked up at her and nodded approvingly. “Welcome back. And I like the new clothes. The whole ‘sexy biker vamp’ look really works well on you.”

The girl walked up to Sebastian and wrapped an arm around his waist, just as Caterina did. “Thanks. It’s classic but not overdone. That’s the same thing I said to the girl I got them from. Right before I ripped her throat out, of course.”

Sebastian make a _tsk_ sound with his tongue. “Maureen, dear, you haven’t been making a scene, now have you?”

“She was asking for it,” the girl called Maureen replied innocently. “All I wanted were her earrings. She’s the one who wanted to start screaming. Or, trying to scream. She never really got the chance.”

“Well, let me ask you this: were you all vamped-out when you asked her for her earrings? Fangs extended, snarling face, creepy eyes?”

Maureen swayed her hips playfully and smiled. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

 Sebastian beamed down at her, putting an index finger beneath her chin and raising her face to his. “That’s my girl,” he said and brought his lips down on hers. It wasn’t until Caterina felt the holy water reach her heart, making her let out a piercing wail, that they seemed to remember that they weren’t alone. Sebastian pulled back from Maureen, sliding an arm around her shoulders as she leaned into him. “Oh, Caterina, how rude of me. I’ve forgotten to introduce you. Caterina, this is Maureen Brown. My _new_ vampire girl.”

 

"Magnus, what's going on?" Alec asked exasperatedly, following Magnus as he led them down yet another corridor. Magnus didn't reply, but kept walking, occasionally trying a door knob and then moving on when that door turned out to be locked. "Magnus! What are you doing? You said you wanted to talk to me."

"Wait," Magnus said anxiously. "We have to find somewhere we can talk without being overheard." He tried another door, and again he turned away in anger when it wouldn't open.

"Now you're just being paranoid. No one is listening to you. And if you don't stop and talk to me in the next ten seconds, _I'm_ not even going to listen to you.

Magnus stopped and sighed, turning to look at Alec. Realizing that the black-haired boy wasn't bluffing, he quickly looked over his shoulder to make sure they hadn't been followed, and then faced Alec once more. "What I'm about to say," Magnus whispered finally, "needs to stay between the two of us."

"That's never been a problem with us before," Alec replied dryly, and Magnus's cheeks flushed slightly.

"I'm serious, Alec."

"Fine, I promise. What's eating at you?"

Magnus bit his lip, but finally answered. "I want you to stay away from Clary as much as you can. At least for right now. Please."

"Clary?" Alec replied, dumbfounded. "What are you talking about?"

"I can't explain right now. You just have to trust me. Please."

"No! You can't just tell me something like that and expect me to take you at your word."

"Alexander—"

"Don't 'Alexander' me. Stop treating me like I'm a child. I may not be centuries old, but I _am_ eighteen. According to the Clave, I'm an adult. Come on, you know me. Whatever it is, I can take it. What's going on?" Magnus looked at him pleadingly, but didn't answer. "Fine," Alec said, turning to leave.

Magnus dragged his hand down over his face in exasperation. "Alec," Magnus said hesitantly. "Wait. I'll tell you." Alec stopped and turned back around to look at Magnus, who didn't meet Alec's eyes as he spoke. "When you found Clary earlier, she was unconscious, right? Maia said that she'd opened the door and found Clary there, and Clary passed out as soon as Maia saw her?"

"Yeah," replied Alec cautiously. "That's right. So what?"

"So, Clary wasn't really unconscious. I checked on her, Alec. I thought of any and every illness or injury that could have made her pass out, but there was nothing physically wrong with her. Her pulse was strong and her breathing was too fast for her to be knocked out. She was awake the whole time, I'm sure of it. She was faking."

"What? Why would she be faking? Why would she pretend to be unconscious? We'd found her, she was safe, with friends. Are you sure she wasn't just exhausted?"

"All of vital signs were strong. Not just that, they were more than just healthy. They were better than strong. All of her wounds were superficial and they missed the vital organs."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means that whoever hurt her made sure not to leave any permanent damage that couldn't be fixed by an _iratze._ ”

"Sebastian's obsessed with her. It makes sense that he wouldn't want to hurt her I suppose."

"There's more. When I was checking on her, there was something. . . I don't know. There was something _dark_ about Clary. And Alec, I'm starting to think she isn't herself."

"What are you talking about?"

"You can't tell me you didn't notice that there was something way off about her when she was talking about her brother before, Alec."

"She's just escaped from the creep, Magnus. Why wouldn't there be something off when she talks about it?"

"But she didn't even flinch when she was telling the story. And, besides, since when does Clary call her brother by his name? She's always tried to deny that he's her brother, and so she never calls him by his name. Why change that now?"

"Maybe Sebastian just said something to her that freaked her out or maybe she's just. . . I don't know, Magnus," Alec finished exasperatedly.

"And what about her escape? That whole story makes no sense whatsoever. Why would Sebastian be careless as to keep a stele with him around Clary, or to not check the cuffs he was going to hold her down with?"

"Maybe he just underestimated her," Alec reasoned.

"I doubt that. If there's one thing I can say about Sebastian, it's that he isn't stupid. _And_ Don't you think it's just a little weird that he called Jocelyn to make sure we knew we had Clary in the first place?"

"He called her to screw with her head. He's a psychopath. It's what he does!"

"There's more to it than just that and you know it. He called to make absolutely sure that we knew that he had Clary _and that we would never see her again._ "

"What are you getting at, Magnus?"

"Why would he bother telling us? We would have assumed that he had her anyway, and we would have known that he wouldn't let her go willingly."

"Wait, so you think. . . You think Sebastian just _let_ Clary go? Why in the name of the Angel would he do that?"

"Maybe we were wrong about why he took her in the first place. Maybe he didn't want her for her power with the runes. Maybe he just needed a spy in the Institute."

"But Clary would never—"

"No, _Clary_ would never do anything to hurt any of us. Like I said earlier, I don't think Clary is exactly herself right now."

Alec's face drew together in confusion and then dropped when the sudden understanding of Magnus's words hit him. "You think he turned her? You think she drank from the Infernal Cup?"

"It makes sense. Think about—"

"There's _no_ sense in what you're saying right now, Magnus!" Alec exclaimed, astounded by Magnus's accusations. "Clary isn't one of them. I would be able to tell, Jace—"

"Jace is a love-struck idiot who is blind to reality when it comes to Clary. And you knew, if Clary hadn't have showed up, I was ready to go to Hell and back to find her and Sebastian. Both of you needed her to come back safe and sound, and now that she's here, you won't let anyone tell you that she isn't a hundred percent perfect. You can't afford for something to be wrong. You both have important things to lose if something _does_ go wrong."

"And you don't? You were going to put your _life_ on the line, go to a demon dimension to talk to your father—"

"Which wasn't nearly as important to me as protecting you. You people, you're the only family I have now," Magnus continued tiredly. "And you. . ."

"What about me?"

"Isn't it obvious? I was going to my father to find Sebastian because I knew I had to save you. I was protecting _you_. I'm _always_ protecting you. My senses have become finely tuned in noticing things that can cause harm to you, and Clary's reappearance set those senses on fire. At first, I thought Clary was dying, which I know would hurt you, that's why I wanted to help her. I only grew suspicious when I realized that she was pretending to be ill. But one thing, about all else, made me realize what had really happened between Clary and her brother." Alec remained silent, awaiting Magnus's revelation. "Her eyes," the latter finished darkly.

"What do you mean?" Alec answered cautiously. "What about her eyes?"

"When she opened them earlier, she looked right at me," said Magnus. "And there was a look in them that's I'd only ever seen one other time with one other person."

"Who?"

"Amatis Herondale," Magnus replied darkly.

"Amatis? Luke's sister, the woman who was married to Jace's father?"

Magnus nodded solemnly. "And the first Shadowhunter to drink from the Infernal Cup. During the battle in the Burren, Amatis tried to kill me. And when I looked into her eyes, they weren't hers anymore. They were cold and dark and empty. And I saw the same thing when Clary first opened her eyes today in the infirmary."

"Clary is not a Dark Shadowhunter!" Alec bellowed, glaring at Magnus. Magnus looked back at him, surprised but standing his ground. "She can't be. Jace is doing so much better now that she's back and _I'm_ happier now that I know I'm not going to lose you. Doesn't that mean anything to you? You said you wanted to protect me."

"I'm doing this all to keep you safe. I can't let anything happen to you, Alec. I _am_ protecting you!"

"If you really cared about me, Magnus, you would have answered your phone at least once in the past month, even if it was to tell me to stop thinking things were going to change. At least it would have been something! One phone call, that's all I needed. But no, you didn't care that much. So don't tell me that trying to ruin the life I've built up after you and destroy the happiness I'm finally starting to feel again is you trying to take care of me."

"Alexander—"

"Go home, Magnus," said Alec coldly. "I don't think we'll be needing you again anytime soon. If we do, I'll be sure to call somebody else."

Magnus sighed in defeat and brushed past Alec, stopping once he reached the end of the hallway and speaking again. "Just look at her eyes, Alexander. I promise that you'll soon discover that the Clary that returned to the Institute is not the same Clary that Jace was willing to venture into Hell to get back."

 

Jordan stepped through the front door of the Praetor House. The was a time when walking into the foyer brought him comfort; after a hard day of training, Jordan would return to the House, surrounded by other werewolves just like him. They were his friends and family. They were his pack. And, he realized as a large, burly wolf stepped in front of him, they had never stopped being any of those things.

"Kyle?" said the older boy in a rough, deep voice.

"Mason Xavier!" Jordan said happily, shaking his head as the other wolf pulled him into a bear hug.

"Hey, man! What the Hell are you doing here? I heard you were off on assignment."

"I was. I mean, I am. I'm here to talk to Scott. Is he here?"

Xavier's face fell, his expression more serious. "Is he expecting you?"

"Not exactly."

"You know the old man won't see you without an appointment."

"This is really important, Mas. I have to talk to him." Jordan moved to walk past his old training buddy, but felt a strong hand grab his arm, preventing Jordan from going further than two steps up the large staircase that served as the center of the room.

"You know I can't let you—"

"It's alright, Praetor Xavier," a voice from the top of the stairs interrupted. "Praetor Kyle and I have an understanding. Come with me please, Jordan."

The hard grip on Jordan's arm was released and he quickly ran up the stairs to follow the alpha werewolf to his office.

"I wasn't aware that you were coming to the Praetor House this morning," said Scott in a hushed voice, closing the door behind him as the two of them entered his office. Like the office at the warehouse, it was plushly furnished like a lawyer's office. But, unlike the warehouse, this office wasn't secret to the rest of the Praetor Lupus. Which was exactly what Jordan wanted.

"I have some news about the Lightwoods that I knew you needed to hear."

"Alright. Still, I don't see why you couldn't at least phone first so that we could meet in a more private setting."

"Why are you so worried about the Praetor finding out about the little side assignment you gave me?"

"That is none of your concern, Praetor Kyle," Scott spat angrily through gritted teeth, and it took all of Jordan's willpower not to flinch away. This man may have been his alpha, but his ideas weren't in the right place. He wasn't thinking straight. He had to know that the Lightwoods weren't the enemies. And for Jordan to convince him of this, he would need to be strong and unafraid when talking to the older werewolf.

"Of course sir," he said placating. "As I was saying, there have been several developments since the last time we spoke, and I wanted to fill you in."

Praetor Scott sat down in the large chair behind his desk, gesturing for Jordan to do the same in a smaller chair opposite him. Jordan remained standing. "Alright, then. Proceed."

"First, Valentine's daughter has returned safely to the Institute."

"Good news, obviously. Why, however, has this warranted an unannounced visit to the Praetor House?"

"That isn't the reason I came here today. You sent me to spy on the Lightwood Institute. I came to tell you all that I've learned from them in the short time I've been observing them."

"I'm not sure that two days is long enough—"

"I've learned more about these people in two days than you know about them know. Trust me when I say that you need to hear what I have to say."

"What could you possibly have learned that is so damned important?" Scott scoffed.

"Things you can't read in a report. Things you have to experience to understand. The Lightwoods are a loyal family, loyal to their friends and allies. And they will do anything to protect each other."

"Even disobey the Clave?" Scott replied hopefully.

"Yes," Jordan replied cautiously. "They were prepared to do something drastic to help track down Sebastian—Valentine's demon son—and get Clary back and they were prepared to do it without the approval of the Clave."

"And what was this drastic action they were going to perform without the Clave's permission?"

"It isn't relevant."

"I will decide what is and isn't relevant in these matters, Praetor Kyle." The alpha spoke with a poorly-controlled anger. "Your job is to inform me of everything you observed while you were with the Lightwoods."

Jordan smirked at Praetor Scott and leaned forward, his palms pressing on the hard wooden desk. "Gladly. Where shall I start? I guess I'll start with Isabelle. I learned that Isabelle Lightwood is a girl of extreme bravery. She's sixteen years old and she's still one of the most amazing Shadowhunters I've ever seen in action. But, she's also a girl of extreme heart. She puts her family and friends before anything else all the time without a second thought. She acts so tough, but she's really soft-hearted. She's has the biggest heart of anyone I've ever met even though she's given half of heart away to someone else, Simon.

"Simon Lewis. The Daylighter. My roommate and my assignment. A vampire, though you'd never know it by talking to him. He's a total nerd and all he talks about is Dungeons and Dragons. He has a soul and he holds onto his humanity as hard as he can, until his knuckles have turned white, and even then. No matter how much pain and suffering it causes him. Even though he isn't still in love with Clary, he protects her as if she's the most important thing in the world to him, because she is. Though now she has to share that place with Isabelle. And Simon's family, what he's prepared to do for them, well. . . It's truly heartbreaking.

"Isabelle's brother, Alec, he's really brave too. He's got the worst luck of any of them. He's in love too, also with a Downworlder. He and Magnus are probably the most sickly, sweetly in-love couple you will ever meet. At least, they were before they broke up. Now, it's just sad between them. Every time Alec is in the same room as Magnus, he stares at him. I don't even know if he realizes he's doing it. He just does. And, despite that, despite the fact that he can't be with the love of his life right now, he still fights. His family is the most important thing to him, and he knows that he can't take care of them like he should be able to if he lets himself think about the fact that his life is literally going to Hell. People underestimate Alec, but he might just be the strongest and bravest of them all, even up against his _parabatai_ , Jace.

"Jace Lightwood. He may be a Herondale by blood, but he will always be a Lightwood at heart. His love fuels him as much as his hate. I mean, he hates Sebastian, but I think it's only because he's a threat to Clary. There are times when Jace is talking about Clary or about love, and I could swear that his life is actually connected to Clary's. It's like you know that, the minute Clary's heart stops, he'll be lying dead on the ground, surrounded by the bodies of the people who took her from him, a sword through his own heart. He's a fierce warrior, a true Shadowhunter."

"That's quite enough, Praetor Kyle," Scott snapped.

"I'm not done," Jordan remarked quietly, though not without malice, surprising both Scott and himself. "You wanted to know what I learned, and so you are going to hear it." Praetor Scott sat back in his chair, stunned, and Jordan continued.

"Maia Roberts. A werewolf, like us. Loyal to her pack leader, Luke, until death. Not very tall and not very physically strong, but still strong-minded and high-spirited. Not only has she been vital to the success of the New York Institute, but she has also been vital in my own success. She's the reason I'm alive today, and I'll never forget that. She's brave and I don't know what I'd do without her."

"Praetor Kyle, I am warning you—"

"And do you want to know what I learned about Maryse Lightwood?" Jordan continued over Scott's voice. "Maryse Lightwood is strong in so many ways. She's strong-minded, strong-hearted, and strong-bodied, but she's also a strong mother. Definitely the strongest I've ever met, especially in the face of everything that has happened to her. She's lost so much because of the Clave, but she still keeps going. Because she knows that she has a job, as a Shadowhunter, as the head of the Institute, and as the head of her family. She's lost her youngest son to the cause, almost lost the rest of her children, too. But she never complained. And she wasn't going to. She knows who she is and that it requires some sacrifices. The only reason she's willing to rebel now is because the Clave's laws are making the deaths of her family members and friends be in vain. Their laws prevent the Shadowhunters from doing their jobs. The Clave is corrupt. They are the ones who have put even their worst Nephilim above us. Not the Lightwoods. They believe in what it truly means to be a Shadowhunter. They believe in loyalty.

"And then there's me. I'm the weakest of them. The coward. The one who let myself buy into the delusion that they are somehow the evil ones, the enemy. Now I know how wrong that is. _They_ aren't the enemy. They're people of loyalty and heart, two things I am severely lacking in. That's what I came to tell you. I won't spy on them anymore. I want to be part of that family, and I can't do that if I'm the knife you're using to stab them in the back. _They_   aren't our enemy. They can't _be_ our enemy."

Praetor Scot exploded, standing up quickly and knocking his chair over in the process. "The Shadowhunters are already our enemies," he growled at Jordan. "We live by _their_ laws and so they _permit_ us to live in their world in peace. Or so they say. They find any reason, any tiny infraction in the accords and then they kill us. It's like a sport to them."

"That's not the Lightwoods, though. That's not what they believe in. They're different from the rest of the Clave."

"There is no difference between them and the 'people' that have hunted my family for generations. That is why my ancestors created the Praetor Lupus and why I still lead it. We find new Downworlders and help them before the Shadowhunters decide that they are threats to society. We save people."

"The Lightwoods don't hate Downworlders. They aren't like that—"

"Maryse and Robert Lightwood were in Valentine's Circle. What makes you think they've given up all of the ways they had for so long? They're all the same! All but one of them. The one who was born to them and yet is still hunted by them like a wild buck, like us. He has promised to bring an end to the Shadowhunters."

Jordan stared at his alpha, letting his words sink in. It took him a minute to realize who he was talking about. But then it hit him like a ton of bricks. "Sebastian? You've joined his side?"

"My ancestors died so that they could be fur coats to the rich and all-powerful Shadowhunter race. I am doing thing to honor them and to ensure the survival of my kind. You should be _thanking_ me."

Jordan's mind was still reeling. Sebastian had gotten to the Praetor and, from what Clary has said, the Seelie Court as well. How many Downworlders had Sebastian gained on his side? "Sebastian is going to destroy this world with Hellfire," Jordan explained carefully. "He's not just going to kill all the Shadowhunters. He's going kill every single person on this Earth, even you and the pack."

"My pack has already been promised safe haven by Valentine's son. He only wants what we want; he only wants the end of the Shadowhunters' tyranny."

"But at what cost? Sebastian is a manipulative liar. He's a demon in human form. What makes you think he won't kill you the second he's done with you?"

"Do you think death is the worst thing that can happen to us, Praetor Kyle? Do you think living is the only thing  worth living for? If that's what you're thinking, you're wrong. I'd rather die well than live a long, realizing too late that I could done something bigger with my time here."

"You already know you're going to die," Jordan replied solemnly. "Don't you?"

Scott nodded. "And I've accepted it. If it brings an end to that infernal race, my death will have served its purpose."

"You're crazy," Jordan whispered in bewilderment. He stood up and quickly took his exit the room, ignoring the protests of the older werewolf. It wasn't until he was down the long hallway and at the foot of the giant main staircase that Jordan heard Scott's booming voice coming from the top of the stairs again.

"Jordan!" he bellowed.

Jordan stopped, his jaw set, and turned to face Praetor Scott. Several wolves had heard the altercation and had stepped out of their bedrooms, watching as the conversation ensued.

"Does your pack know that their souls have been signed over to devil?" Jordan asked, and many familiar faces around him turned to talk amongst themselves, various worried expressions on their faces. "I'll take that as a no."

"Jordan?" said a small voice  beside him, and Jordan turned to see a little boy with dark hair and bright green eyes walk toward him. He couldn't have been more than ten years old. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't say a word, Praetor Kyle," said Scott. "This is between you and me alone."

Jordan ignored him, leaning down to the little boy. "It's Cale, right? How old are you? Nine?"

"Ten next month," Cale announced proudly.

"That's pretty young, Cale. Ten years old. And yet Praetor Scott has sold your soul without so much as asking your permission. I'll bet he didn't even tell you about it, did he?"

"That's enough!" exclaimed Scott.

"Mr. Scott?" the little boy beside Jordan asked. "What's he talking about?"

"Nothing—"

"He hasn't told any of you, has he? That he's joined with Sebastian and his legion of Dark Shadowhunters? That he expects you to fight alongside them and bring the world to an end just to be rid of Shadowhunters?" Jordan looked at the blank faces surrounding him and accepted them as answer enough in the silence that had followed his words. "Well, I'm not fighting with him. And none of you have to either! You never have to fight a war that you don't belong in. That's one of the first things I learned here. So who's leaving with me and who's staying here? If you come with me, I can promise you a home and a family and a pack that care about you. A pack that will keep you safe."

"Treason," Scott replied quietly, before raising his voice so that everyone in the house could hear. "What you are suggesting is treason against the Praetor Lupus!"

"I'm with you, Jordan," Cale answered immediately with a smile. "I don't want to fight anyone. Now when they never did anything to me."

Jordan grinned and patted Cale on the shoulder before turning back to the masses of werewolves around him. "Anyone else?"

"I'll come with you, too," said a dusty-haired boy that Jordan recognized vaguely, and he came to stand behind Jordan.

"So will I," remarked another voice, this one belonging to an older boy who came to stand behind Cale, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Jordan noticed that the two shared the same green eyes and dark hair—a family resemblance. He nodded at the older boy and then looked into the eyes of ever other wolf he could catch the gaze of.

"Last chance, guys," Jordan spoke to them, a pleading note slipping into his voice. "Who's coming with me?"

A few werewolves inched toward him nervously, but Scott, still standing stiffly at the top of the stairs, raised his voice, stopping them in their tracks. "Before any more rash decisions are made, know this. Anyone who walks out that door tonight has broken the sacred allegiance to the Praetor. You will be on your own."

Jordan's heart sank deep inside his chest; the Praetor had rescued him, had been his home for years. He remembers all of the happy memories that had happened in the very house that he was about to leave behind forever.

And then he remembered that the people here were not who he used to think they were. They were willing to kill and hurt people, innocent people, two qualities he had never had any respect for. They were trying to hurt the people he had come to consider not only close friends, but who were the closest things he had to family. And these people were even willing to destroy the world in the process.

His teeth grinding together in anger, Jordan reached his hand up and ripped the Praetor Lupus pendant from his neck. Glancing down at is for one last time, he raised his head and threw it violently to the ground. " _Beati bellicosi_ ," he said. "Remember, Praetor Scott?"

"'Blessed be the warriors.' The mantra of the Praetor Lupus."

Jordan's mouth curved into a wicked grin. "And it's a lie. Your warriors and this pack lose the blessing of God the second they side with the devil."

"If you join the Shadowhunters' side, you will be the enemy. And if fight with them, you _will_ die."

"There's more to life than living. Isn't that what you said earlier? And if these are all that will join me, we'll be leaving now. I will see you all on the front lines, gentlemen. I'm fighting for this because it's right, not because it's safe. So give it your shot because I'm not going down easy." Jordan nodded at Cale and the other boys to leave, but felt a tight grip on his arm, holding him in place as he tried to leave. The grip, Jordan discovered, was of the same wolf that blocked his path earlier.

"You  traitor!" Xavier exclaimed. "this pack has given you everything. _We're_ your family. And you're just going turn against us?"

"At least I'm not going to be responsible for setting off a domino effect that could wipe out the whole world."

Mason's hand flew to Jordan's throat, choking him. Jordan did nothing to fend off the attack, knowing not to show the fear the was screaming at him inside. Instead, he only looked back defiantly. Cale and his brother rushed to Jordan's side, protecting their new leader. While the older boy—Jordan thought his name was Michael—grabbed at Xavier's strong hands around Jordan's throat, Cale managed to wedge himself between Xavier and Jordan, pushing the bigger werewolf away with all of his strength. Their efforts, however, did nothing to release Mason's grip. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't snap your neck—"

"Let him go, Xavier," Scott instructed and Xavier, though reluctantly, dropped his hand from Jordan's neck. Cale didn't move from his protective position in front of Jordan as Michael pushed against Xavier's chest until he was at a safe, non-attack ready distance from him. Jordan placed his hand on Cale's shoulder again, this time in a both appreciative and protective manner, moving to stand in front of the smaller boy and nodding at Michael to get behind him as well. "He shall die a death that is worthy of his life," Scott continued. "He will die in battle. Ave atque vale, Jordan. That is what your precious Shadowhunters say to their fallen heroes, isn't it?"

Jordan didn't respond. He only glared up at Scott for a moment before turning to the door and gesturing once more for the others to leave before him. Once Cale, the last of them, had passed through the door, Jordan took one last look around him. And, with an aching in his heart, he realized that the next time he saw these people, they would probably be trying to kill him.

 

The hallway of the Institute was dark and cold. Alec was running barefoot, his breathing becoming more and more labored. He kept looking over his shoulder, though, at the moment, he couldn't exactly remember what it was he was looking _for_. When he had finally assured himself that he wasn't being followed, Alec slowed his pace, eventually stopping and catching his breath. He took one last look behind him before breathing a sigh of relief and spinning back around—

—right into a soft, warm body. A scream was building in his throat as he looked up into the face of the person he'd run into. Magnus's hand clamped down over Alec's hand before the scream had made its way past his lips. "Hush!" Magnus hissed. "Now, I'll let you go if you promise to stay quiet." Alec's racing heart finally started to slow down, and he stopped struggling against the warlock's grip, at which point Magnus finally released him.

"Magnus?" Alec whispered in a daze. "What are you doing here?"

"I told you to be careful," Magnus answered wearily, his hands reaching Alec's shoulders. "Why do you never listen?"

"Be careful? What are you talking about? Magnus, I don't understand. What's going on?"

Magnus opened his mouth but, before he could form a response, an animalisticly guttural sound escaped his lips. His eyes bulged out of their sockets. " _Her_ ," he finally whispered before he collapsed to the ground. Panic set in as Alec looked up the crumpled warlock that lay before him to see Sebastian, standing just behind the body, an oddly shaped bloody object in his hand. Alec, with a jolt, looked down at Magnus's body and noticed the gaping hole in his shirt, right over the place where—

Alec looked back at the object in Sebastian's hand and felt his stomach churn as the words burned into his mind. The hole in Magnus's shirt was right over where _his heart should have been._ Only Magnus's heart had been ripped grotesquely from its natural place and was now balanced in the pale palm of Clary's older brother.

"I have to admit, Lightwood, I never thought you had it in you. I guess there is such a thing as conditional love. I've had my suspicions for a while, but I never guessed you would be the one to prove me right."

"What are you talking about?" was the only response Alec could come up with, his mind still spinning after what had just happened.

Sebastian didn't answer. He only gestured down at Alec's hands, a sly smirk on his face. Alec's gaze followed the demon spawn's and, upon seeing his hands, he had to stifle a scream. His hands were covered in blood and warm and heavy in his left hand was the same heart he'd just seen Sebastian holding.

Magnus's heart.

He raised his eyes back to Sebastian, ready to scream and yell, which seemed the only thing he could do. "What kind of trick is this?" he was about to say. But, when his eyes came into contact with the pair of eyes opposite him, the words froze in his throat. Because the eyes weren't the dark tunnels of Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern. They were a familiar piercing blue, set in a familiar angular face. His own face.

It wasn't another person anymore. It was a twisted reflection of himself, his own eyes with a wicked gleam in them, his own mouth curved into a devilish grin, and his own hand extended out, displaying the grotesque sight of the heart, which, Alec realized suddenly, was still beating slowly. The beats were growing louder, deafening even. Alec threw the beating heart down and raised his hands, still sticky with blood, to cover his ears. The beating grew louder and faster still, and, eventually, even Alec's hands couldn't block out their cacophony. He dropped down into a low crouch next to Magnus's limp body and screamed.

 

Alec lurched upward in his bed, his heart racing, beads of sweat rolling down his bare chest. He gasped for air as he took in his surroundings—his bedroom, though thrown into a shroud of darkness by the curtains over the windows, was still recognizable. Alec looked over at his nightstand, reading the alarm clock that sat on top of it. It was just after noon now. After his talk with Magnus, Alec had retired to his room for some much-needed rest.

Magnus. the name brought back memories of the chilling nightmare from which Alec had just awoken. Magnus's warning, Sebastian, his own twisted reflection, and the sick, twisted beating of the disembodied heart all still lingered, fresh and horrifying in his mind. He could have even swore that he could still hear the beating.

_Wait a minute,_ Alec thought to himself. _I_ do _hear beating. Where the Hell is that coming from?_

"Alec!"

Alec leaped up out of the bed at the sound of the voice calling his name. But, now, the grogginess of sleep was wearing off, and he realized that the beating was only coming from someone knocking—though annoyingly persistently—at his bedroom door.

Grudgingly, he stood up and walked over to the door, throwing it open with more force than probably was necessary. "What the Hell do you want?" he growled without glancing at the person he was addressing. Once he noticed that it was his sister, Alec added vindictively, "Oh, I'm sorry. Do I need to vacate my room to give you and the Daylighter more private time? I'm afraid I may have interrupted something important earlier—"

"Oh, shut up," Isabelle replied irritably, nudging her brother's shoulder with her first and consequently losing her balance, having to reach out to hold on to the door frame for support. Alec leaned forward, putting a hand on Isabelle's upper arm and trying to catch her gaze, disappointed and slightly angry when he smelled alcohol on her breath.

"Isabelle, are you _drunk_?"

"No!" she answered indignantly. "I only had one drink. Okay, maybe two. _I'm_ fine. Mom wanted me to come check on you. No one's seen you since you left with Magnus earlier and—"

"Mom didn't send you, Iz."

'What do you mean?" Isabelle slurred. "Of course she did."

"Mom abhors drinking. You and I both know to avoid her if we're going to go on a bender. But that's always been me or Jace. You never drink anymore. What's wrong?"

"You tell me. You're the one who looks like he's just seen a ghost."

"What? I'm fine. It was just a bad dream was all."

"You never get bad dreams. Jace never really had them, and you haven't had them since we were kids. It was just me that got them a lot. What was it about?"

Alec, not wanting to recount the terrifying nightmare, turned the conversation back to his sister. "Never mind that, Iz. Tell me what's going on with you? You've never really been a drinker, much less a day drinker. What's going on with you?"

Isabelle slipped past her brother and made her way into his room, flipping the light switch on as she did. "Simon wants to spend all of his time hovering over Clary. Or talking about her. Or doing anything that has to do with her, really. I don't know, Alec. I just feel like no matter how much he cares about me, he'll never really be able to get over her."

"She's his best friend, Isabelle," Alec said consolingly, closing the door and walking over to sit on his bed. "That's all."

"I know. I mean, I understand it."

"If you understand, why did you go and get totally wasted?"

"First of all, I am _not_ totally wasted. I am just tipsy. And second, I'm not drinking to forget about him," Isabelle confessed. "I was drinking because of everything that's going on with Dad."

"Mom talked to you about that, then?"

Isabelle nodded. "How long have you known?"

Alec sighed. "Since he came back from Idris." Isabelle shot an incredulous look at her brother. "Izzy, I'm so sorry. We didn't want to tell you in case Dad didn't get the job and he had to stay here."

"But he's not staying, Alec. He's leaving us. Going to Idris." Tears swam in Isabelle's eyes, and she brushed them away impatiently with the back of her hand. "Why? What did we do to make him hate us so much?"

"Iz, he doesn't _hate_ us. He's doing his duty to the Clave—"

Isabelle scoffed shortly, cutting him off. "The Clave. The all-mighty Clave and their council? Well, they can go screw themselves. Tearing families apart like they do, turning people against each other, ruining every happy occasion, even today. How do they live with themselves? And now Dad's going to be one of them. And I have to choose whether I want to go with him and go back to Idris, which is what every Shadowhunter should want even though I'll be totally alone, or if I stay here, with my family and friends. It's an impossible decision. How can they even expect me to make it so fast?"

"Look, I know it's a tough decision, but you have time to think about it. Dad isn't leaving until tomorrow night."

"So Mom didn't tell you, then?"

"Tell me what?"

"You being the trustworthy kid, I figured she'd trust you before me with anything."

"Isabelle," Alec snapped, "tell me _what_?"

Isabelle was taken aback momentarily by her brother's outburst. "Dad got another message from the Clave earlier. He's not leaving tomorrow. He's leaving tonight."

"What? No, why would he do that?"

"Like you said, it's his duty to the Clave."

"Isabelle, I'm so sorry—"

"Good riddance. The faster he's out of here, the faster we can move on in our lives. I just have to decide where I'm going to live my life for the next two years before he leaves."

"Iz—"

"Alec, I'm fine. Really. Our lives are already screwed up. They've been screwed up even since before Max died. Dad cheated on Mom before Max was even born. And after he died. . . It was like he'd never been born at all. And whatever progress Mom and Dad had made since then got destroyed, erased, like it never happened."

A tear rolled down Isabelle's face and Alec stood up, reaching out as he did and wrapping his arms around his sister comfortingly. "Hey," he whispered, rubbing her back gently. "I'm still here. Mom's still here. You're still here. Our family's not over yet."

"It's only a matter of time. As long as Sebastian's alive we're a ticking time bomb." Alec's sister pulled away from him, sitting down at the foot of his bed. "Sebastian ruined everything. And not just with us."

Alev moved to sit next to her. "I know. He's a demon."

"We have to stop him, Alec. We can't wait for the Clave to do it."

"Isabelle, listen to yourself. You're not you right now. You're drunk and you're upset—"

"Alec, I'm serious. He's going to destroy everything. After everything he's done, after Max and Jace and the Dark Shadowhunters, and then almost Clary, he's trying to destroy everything we have left. We can't let him. It's a miracle Jace and Clary have even survived this long. And Jace has that heavenly fire thing going on with him and Clary. . . Well, she just got lucky with escaping from Sebastian."

"Lucky. . ." Alec thought out loud, his mind wandering back to the nightmare.

"What is it?" Isabelle asked.

"Magnus said something to me earlier. I'm not supposed to talk about it to anyone else, but. . ."

"Alec, I'm your sister. Your family. You can trust me. What did he say?"

Alec bit his lip before answering. "He said that Clary's escape was too perfect. Too unlikely."

"So. . . what? He thinks Sebastian suddenly got a conscience and let her go?"

"Not exactly. He thinks Clary _lost_ her conscience."

Understanding dawned on Isabelle's face. "He thinks she's a Dark Shadowhunter?"

"Yeah. I told it's not possible. But, the more I think about it. . ." he trailed off, his thoughts wandering back to the darkened hallway of the Institute and the lifeless warlock's body on the ground.

"Is that what your nightmare was about?" asked Isabelle. Alec nodded, and Isabelle continued. "Alec, it was a dream. Clary's fine. We can't start turning on each other. That's just what Sebastian wants."

"I'm not turning against her, Iz. I promise. We're a family. Clary's with Jace, so she's a part of the family now. I'll never turn against family."

Isabelle smiled weakly. "Me either."

 

Simon turned yet another corner in the Institute's maze of hallways and sighed. He'd been wandering around looking for Clary's room for nearly half an hour now. He'd managed to find his way back to the infirmary earlier with relative ease after he'd left the Institute to run down to Taki's for some fresh blood. However, when he returned, Jace had stood alone in the big white room, stripping the white sheets off the bed that Clary had been occupying only an hour before. Immediately, Simon's mind raced with dozens of scenarios to explain to himself why the bed was now empty, though none of them explained Jace's casual attitude. Cautiously, Simon had cleared his voice and spoke. "Jace?"

Jace had turned around and regarded Simon with the same lazy expression he always had. "Just because you can enter the Institute now, Daylighter, does not mean you can come here whenever you want."

"Where's Clary? Is she. . . Is she okay?"

Confusion had danced across Jace's face for a fleeting moment before he seemed to finally comprehend Simon's meaning when he followed the other boy's gaze to the empty white infirmary bed beside him. He raised his eyes back to Simon's before speaking, slightly softer this time, though not exactly gentle. Jace, Simon had thought, was not really a person who ever spoke gently, not even to people he actually liked. "She's fine," Jace said. "She wanted to go back to her room after Magnus said that she was okay."

"Oh. I'm surprised you aren't with her."

Jace had shrugged. "She said she wanted to be alone."

Simon chuckled at that. "Rule number one of dating, Jace: when a girl says they're fine and that they want to be left alone, it almost always means that they _aren't_ okay and that they need someone to stay with them and talk to them."

Jace had been genuinely bewildered by this. "But Clary seemed like she meant it. She seemed alright. If she wasn't, why wouldn't she say something."

"Clary just escaped from her crazy brother, Jace. She's far from alright. And she wouldn't say anything because she's Clary! The stubborn, fiery redhead that would never admit to you if something was wrong. "

Jace scoffed. "Since when do you know everything about dating, Lewis?"

"That's common sense, Jace. I can see why you never learned it. You've never actually tried a long-term relationship before, have you? Clary's the first girl that you've actually had to try to keep and you're chasing your tail because you have no clue what to do."

Jace, instead of throwing back some witty comeback like Simon thought he was going to, sighed dejectedly and looked up at Simon. "So what do I do now? Should I just go and talk to—"

"Let me talk to her first, just to see how she is. Girls can come up with some pretty screwed up ideas when they're left alone for too long."

Jace had nodded and Simon had turned to leave the room, only turning back a moment late when Jace spoke to him once again. "Do you even know where Clary's room is?"

"I'll find it. How many rooms can this place have, right?"

Jace had tried to hide a smile as he focused his attention back on the bed, now stripping the pillows of their shams. "Whatever you say."

As it turned out, this place had many, many rooms. Simon, now hopelessly lost in the infinite labyrinth that made up the hallways of the Institute, was about to call Clary to ask for her help when the person in question turned a corner right in front of him and ran straight into him.

The impact didn't jar Simon, but he stepped back anyway to look down at the small figure he'd just run into. "Clary?" he asked in confusion. "I thought. . . I mean, Jace said you had gone to your room, that you wanted to be alone." Clary had obviously not been counting on running into anyone in this hallway, and still seemed at a slight loss for words.

"Simon?" she said. "I thought you'd left earlier, while I was sleeping."

"I just went to grab something to drink," Simon replied, holding up the coffee cup he held in his hand with "chkn bld" scrawled on the side and the name _Taki's Diner_ printed across the front. Simon studied Clary's expression and picked up on the slight panic that was hidden in her eyes, along with something a lot darker. Clary was dressed stylishly—in clothes Simon would never have believed she owned had he not seen her in them before his very eyes—with a heavy winter jacket and thick gloves made for battling the cold New York weather outside. Over her shoulder hung her old messenger bag, the only thing that remained of the old Clary. "What's going on?" he inquired. "Are you going somewhere?"

"What's it to you if I _am_ going somewhere?" Clary snapped immediately. "What, does Jace have you on babysitting duty too? Or have you just taken to stalking while I've been away?"

Simon was taken aback by Clary's blunt accusation. "No. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Sorry. Anyway, it's none of my business where you're going. I guess you're right. Is Jace going with you, at least?"

"I don't need a bodyguard, Simon. I've escaped from my brother _twice_ now. I don't get worried about much anymore."

"Clary, I don't think—" Simon began.

"Simon, look," Clary said, clearly trying to find a way out of the conversation.  I can't talk right now. I have meet up with someone and I don't want to be late."

"Who? Can you tell me that, at least?" Simon prompted, but once he caught a glimpse at the glare Clary was giving him, he threw his hands up in surrender. "Never mind. None of my business. Got it. Jace won't be thrilled that you're leaving alone again, though."

"Yeah, well, he won't know I'm alone."

"Isn't that how all of this started, anyway? You lying to Jace and then sneaking out of the Institute completely alone and unprotected?"

"Look, I'm just going to meet someone really quick. I'll be back soon. I'm sick of everyone protecting me and worrying about me, Simon. It's time that I start fighting for myself, so that no one else has to do it for me. I'm not who these people need to be worrying about right now, anyway." Simon bit his lip, unsure as to what to say to her. Clary, her voice softer, though not without a tinge of annoyance, continued. "Look, all you have to do is walk me through the front doors of the Institute. Then we can part ways and I'll meet you again when it's time to come back. Jace doesn't have to know. He'll just think I'm with you."

"I'm just not sure lying to Jace is the best idea."

"Look, if he finds out, I'll take the blame, not you. I promise."

"That's what you said the last time," said a calm voice from the other end of the hallway, and Simon and Clary turned to see Isabelle standing there having just turned the corner. Simon wondered how long she'd been listening. "Remember how that turned out?"

"I'm still here, aren't I? And does everyone in this place eavesdrop on other people's conversations?"

Isabelle ignored Clary's second question. "You got _kidnapped_ by your brother, Clary. You got away on sheer luck. If it came down to it, you could never really take Sebastian in a fight. And you sure as Hell wouldn't escape again."

"I'm not asking for opinion or your permission, Isabelle," Clary replied shortly.

"No, of course not. You never do. No one ever does!"

"For good reason, too. Listen, I'm not afraid of Jonathan. I can't just sit back and watch my life pass me by because you guys want to keep me in a prison. If all you do is keep me locked up in a great big castle for the rest of my life, how are you all any different from him? With the exception, of course, that he's more likely to survive this war than any of you are." Simon and Isabelle were speechless, which Clary took with great pride and continued. "Now, if you two don't mind, you've made me late for my appointment, and I'd rather not miss it entirely. So here's the moment of truth; are you going to go running to Jace or are you going to help me?"

"Clary, I'm sorry," Simon said after a moment. "But I have to—"

"Fine," Isabelle interrupted. "We'll help you. Just tell us what you need. And meet us back in no more than an hour. Deal?"

Clary eyed Isabelle suspiciously, and, Simon thought, with good reason after her sudden change of heart. "Deal," Clary finally agreed, turning on her heel—a heel far higher than Simon was used to seeing her wear—and started toward the end of the hallway.

Simon and Isabelle didn't move to follow her. Instead, Simon grabbed Isabelle's arm and spun her around to face him. "What the Hell are you thinking?" he hissed. "We can't just let her go off alone again, not after what happened last time!"

"Who said anything about leaving her alone?" Izzy whispered back. "Well, I mean, I did. But what's important was the subtext. I'm not letting Clary out of my sight."

"Are you two lovebirds coming any time soon?" Clary's voice rang out in the otherwise quiet hallway.

Isabelle poked her head up and looked over her shoulder at Clary. "Yeah, we'll be there in a minute. Go ahead, we'll catch up." after the clacking of Clary's heels had faded off into another hallway, Isabelle turned back to Simon. "Trust me," she said feverently. "I'm going to find out what's going on here."

 

The faerie knight that sat at the outside patio table looked down once more at his watch. The person he was supposed to be meeting here was already ten minutes late. Mundanes passing by didn't give his blue-black hair or odd clothing a second glace—the power of a strong glamour.  He'd been waiting at the Café Disparu—a small coffee shop that was a favorite meeting place for members of the Seelie Court—all afternoon, and now he was starting to get the feeling that he was going to be stood up. Like he had done once every few minutes for the past few hours, the man surveyed the crowd around him, searching for any sign of his visitor's unmistakable white-blond hair.

Agitated upon not seeing his guest, the faerie knight turned back around to face the table in front of him. Only, when he turned around, the chair opposite him was occupied, though not by Sebastian Verlac. Instead, a beautiful and somewhat familiar girl sat before him. Normally, he would not have recognized her, much less remembered her name, as all Shadowhunters had all begun to look the same to him. However, this girl's bright red hair was just like her brother's white-blond hair—unmistakable. Unlike the first time they had met, though, the girl's eyes were not the same soft green they had once been. Instead, they were now a more muted, silver-toned green, with a cold, wicked gleam shining in them. "Clarissa Morgenstern," the faerie knight said. "What an unpleasant surprise."

"Now, don't be rude, Meliorn," Clary replied coolly. "Aren't you expecting someone?"

"Yes, I'm expecting someone. Though no one _you'd_ have any interest in, I'm sure, Shadowhunter."

"But why wouldn't I have any interest in my own brother? That is who you're meeting, isn't it? And don't bother lying. I already know I'm right." Clary leaned in close to Meliorn over the table. "Between you and me, I think I'm a better sight for sore eyes. I inherited all beauty in the family."

"I have nothing to say to _you_. However, your brother. . ."

"My brother, it seems, is indisposed. _I_ , on the other hand, have several matters to discuss with you."

 

Isabelle had followed Clary all the way across town to a small, hole-in-the-wall café. Making sure not to be seen, she had taken cover behind a brick wall across the street, trying to catch a glimpse of whoever Clary's mystery meeting was with. She'd watched as Clary had sat down at one of the outdoor tables, a calmly intimidating air about her as she started talking to the person opposite her. Unfortunately for Izzy, the other person's face was obscured by a rather large and gaudy flower arrangement hanging from an awning overhead.

Clary laughed and turned her head in Isabelle's direction and Isabelle ducked quickly behind the corner, hoping that Clary hadn't caught sight of her. When she thought it was safe to look back, Isabelle peeked around the corner and was surprised to see Clary standing up to leave already and, with her, the other person at the table stood as well.

And Isabelle froze. _Meliorn_ , she thought to herself, recognizing the face instantly. The faerie knight that she had once dated who also happened to be the right hand man of the Seelie Queen _and_ the faeries' council representative in the Clave. But what was Clary doing with him? Determining that the ideas her mind was coming up with had to be worse than the truth, she decided to go straight to the source to ask the question. Crossing the street quickly, Isabelle waited outside the door of the café in a place where Clary wouldn't be able to see her until she had passed her. After only a few seconds, Clary exited the building, a to-go coffee cup in her hand. As she started toward the street, though, Isabelle called out her name and caught her attention. "Clary?"

Clary snapped her head up and spun around the look at Isabelle. "Izzy?" she asked incredulously. "What the Hell—?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

Clary looked around anxiously, as if she were afraid they were being watched, before grabbing Isabelle's arm and pulling her off toward the alleyway beside the coffee shop. "Come on," she said, leading Isabelle rather forcefully. "We can talk over here."

Once they had come to a stop and were clearly out of earshot of any spying mundanes—or other creatures—Isabelle began the Lightwood Inquisition on Clary. "What the Hell were you thinking, Clary? Going off to talk to a member of the Seelie Court alone? Why didn't you think you could trust anyone with this, especially me. I know Meliorn, I could have helped you—"

"I didn't want any help. I didn't need it. I thought. . . I thought he might know where Jonathan was."

"Why would you think—"

"Because we knew the Seelie Court was involved with him. I figured maybe Meliorn might tell me."

"How did you even get in contact with him?"

"I didn't. I heard my brother talking about the meeting on the phone when he thought I was unconscious. I was just seeing who was here and what they knew."

"But why didn't you tell us, Clary? Why didn't you trust us with this?"

"Because it's my fight, not yours. He's my brother. I'm going to be the one that takes care of him."

"He's not your lone responsibility, Clary."

"Look, Iz, I'm sure you have a whole lecture planned out, but I'm not in the mood for it right now, alright. So let's just go back to the Institute, can we?"

"Clary—"

"Now!" Clary exclaimed, and Isabelle saw a dark fury flash in her eyes that she had never seen before. Clary's eyes, Isabelle thought to herself, were dark and scary and. . .

. . .And dead. Just like Magnus had said. What if he had been right? Could Clary really be one of Sebastian's dark Shadowhunters? The idea had Isabelle's head throbbing as she followed Clary's lead back in the direction of the subway. Before they got too far, though, the phone in Isabelle's pocket began to ring. When she stopped to answer it, she waved Clary on, saying that she would catch up as she brought the phone up to her ear. "Hello?"

"Isabelle?" Alec's worried voice came through the phone. "Where have you been? You said you were going to go find Simon to talk to him and you never came back. I was getting worried."

"I'm fine, Alec," Isabelle said, albeit shakily.

"Iz," Alec began, his voice hiking up higher than normal. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," Isabelle admitted. "I think. . . Alec, I'm not sure, but I think Magnus may have been on to something about Clary."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will say this: This is my first draft of this book. I try to revise and edit as much as possible, but I know some major things/errors have slipped through the crack. As soon as I finish writing the book, I'll be going back and doing a huge edit.


	11. Chapter 8: Ten Minutes

"Isabelle, you're just being paranoid," Alec reasoned. "I never should have told you what Magnus said about Clary."

Isabelle resisted the urge to throw her cell phone down on the pavement. "This isn't a joke, Alec! And I'm not crazy, either. When Clary talked to me, she was so cold. And her eyes. . . They scared me. _Clary_ scared me. And you know I don't scare easy."

" _Clary is not one of them_ ," Alec bit out through his teeth.

"If you'd been there you'd believe me."

"I highly doubt that."

"You're biased!" Isabelle shouted exasperatedly.

"And you aren't?" Alec's voice was calm as always, but Isabelle knew he was only seconds away from losing his temper. "Look at the facts, Isabelle. Does Clary still have her runes?"

Isabelle bit her lip. "Yes," she admitted. She knew her case wasn't looking great; dark Shadowhunters lost their runes as soon as they drank from the Infernal Cup. "But she was talking to Meliorn. Why would she do that? We know the Seelie Queen worked with Sebastian before."

"I don't know, Isabelle. You talked to Clary. What did she say?"

"She said she was looking for her brother and she thought Meliorn could help."

"And you don't believe her?"

"Of course not. We've been looking for Sebastian for months. Meliorn has been interrogated thousands of times and he never said anything about knowing where Sebastian was. And why would Clary do it herself? Why doesn't she trust us anymore?"

"She's dealing with a lot right now, Iz. You can't blame her for wanting to get ahead of her brother before he comes after her again. Though I wish she would let someone help her. She's going to get herself hurt."

"Or she's going to hurt someone else."

"Would you listen to yourself?" Alec exclaimed. _There it is_ , Isabelle thought. _There's the explosion. Now he's pissed._ "Clary's stressed. We all are. If we let ourselves get drawn into crazy conspiracy theories like this, we're all going to turn on each other."

Isabelle was taken aback at her brother's attack. "Alec—"

"No, Isabelle. Just stop." Alec sighed tiredly. "I can't talk about this anymore. Just stop worrying about Clary. She's fine, alright?"

Isabelle began to protest but knew she would never convince her brother without hard evidence. "Fine," she conceded, covering her eyes with her hand. "But Alec. . ." She hesitated. "What happens when someone gets hurt?"

There was a silence and Isabelle thought for a moment that her brother wouldn't bother answering. "I'll tell you what," Alec replied finally. "If anything happens—which it won't—you can have the satisfaction of telling me 'I told you so.'"

Isabelle rolled her eyes. "You're not taking this seriously, are you?"

"Of course I am. I promise. You have all 'I told you so' rights here."

"Alec—"

"Isabelle, relax. Everything's going to be alright. I promise."

"How do you know?"

"I'm your big brother," Alec said haughtily. "I know everything."

 

Raphael Santiaago looked through a dirty window in the Hotel Dumort. On the horizon, the first rays of sunlight were making their appearance of the day to come. Soon, Raphael and the rest of his clan would have to retreat to the inner rooms of the hotel, away from the sin's burning glow. For now, though, Raphael was safe. Or, he thought shrewdly, the safest he could be when a bloodthirsty and power hunger vampire was dead set on making a feast of himself and his clan.

The old wooden floor running through this part of the hotel creaked loudly in the doorway. Raphael turned around anxiously, the image of a ravenous enemy vampire still fresh in his mind. However the person in the doorway, though blond, wasn't Maureen Brown.

"Raphael?" the girl said cautiously, clearly afraid to advance toward him. Not that Raphael blamed her—he'd been cold and cruel to the others over the past month, and they had definitely been taking great care not to upset him as a result.

"What do you want, Lily?" Raphael snapped, turning back to the window.

"I was just finishing final checks for the night, like you asked, " Lily replied timidly. "Tara is the only one who hasn't returned. I've tried calling her, but—"

"She will not answer," Raphael finished coldly.

"Maybe she just stayed out late and is crashing with someone until the sun goes back down."

"No. Tara will never return." Raphael, still looking through the window, reached up and touched the crucifix that hung from his neck. "Another one bites the dust," he muttered sardonically.

"Raphael," Lily began carefully, inching towards him slowly, "Why won't you tell me what's going on? What's coming after us?"

Raphael remained silent, unmoving.

"You can trust me," she continued gently. "You've known me longer than almost anyone else in this clan."

"What does it matter who's coming?" Raphael growled vehemently. "She's going to kill us all, one by one, even you. And there's nothing I can do about it."

"Nothing you can do?" she whispered disbelievingly. "Raphael, you're the clan leader. It's your job, your duty to keep us safe. Or at least tell us what's coming for us."

"Except I'm _not_ the clan leader. Not the rightful one. I never was."

"What are you talking about?" asked Lily nervously. "You killed Camille—"

"But I didn't!" Raphael exclaimed, turning to look at her. "Lily, I'm not the one that killed Camille. I told you all that I was, but. . ." he trailed of. Why had he even done it? Why had he lied? Was it because he really cared about these people? Or was it because he liked leading them and was unwilling to relinquish his power to a fourteen-year-old girl?

"Then who?" Lily asked cautiously. "Who is out rightful leader?"

"A girl. A fourteen-year-old girl." Raphael sighed, but continued. "She's the one that's been killing the others. They're supposed to be her clan now."

Lily took a deep breath before pressing on. "Then why aren't we? Why didn't you tell us?"

Raphael shook his head. "I don't know. I felt like I'd just gotten started here and we were doing so well. Who knows what that brat would do to progress I've made?"

"Is that what this is really about?" Raphael looked at Lily in bewilderment, a slim eyebrow shot up in confusion. "You want to know what I think? You've gotten so used to the idea of being in charge, you just couldn't handle the face that you might have to listen to someone else for a change."

"She's fourteen—"

"You were only fifteen when you were turned. Look at all you've done here, just like you said."

"It's not the same! I was older, and I knew about our kind before I turned. And I was used to leadership. I was the oldest of my family, and I had to take care of my younger brothers. It always came naturally to me. This girl. . ." Raphael couldn't form the words he was thinking, and turned once more to look out the window.

Lily sighed heavily, obviously warring with the decision of who to follow: her friend or her clan leader. "To ignore her place as the clan leader is to break the Covenant law."

"I know. And," Raphael added hesitantly, "I understand if you what to follow her and give her a chance. Whatever choice you make, I will follow."

"What?" Now it was Lily's turn to stare at Raphael in disbelief.

"You're right. I've known you the longest. Over the years, I've come to trust you more than anyone else. So, the choice is yours."

There was a moment of silence before Lily answered. "No."

Raphael looked up in surprise as she elaborated. " _You_ are my master, my leader, Raphael. I follow you death."

Raphael turned his face up to her, displaying one of his rare sincere smiles. It faded quickly. "There's still the problem of Maureen killing off members of my clan. Fortunately, if we're going to be breaking the law, I think I may know just the crazy, reckless family to help us."

 

"Isabelle?"

Isabelle looked up from her seat in front of the library's fireplace in surprise. It was only Simon. "Hey," she answered finally. "I guess I'm still not used to you wandering around here."

Simon crossed the large threshold to sit in an arm chair near her. Isabelle's eyes returned to the glowing, warm fire before her. "Where's Clary?" Though she knew Simon trusted her to tell him immediately if anything had happened, Isabelle understood his uneasiness after what had happened with Sebastian the last time Clary was out of the Institute.

"She's fine," Izzy reassured him. "She isn't here yet but she just texted Jace and told him she got delayed shopping with me, so she won't be home for a while. Jace knows it's a lie. He's going to grill her when she gets back. Who knows what else she decided to do today? But after what happened with Sebastian and talking to her earlier. . . I think she can fend for herself."

"Oh," was all Simon said in response. For a while, the two of them sat in silence, staring into the burning fire as if it held all the answers in the universe.

"Simon," Isabelle eventually began. Only she hesitated, cutting off her own thought.

Simon, for the first time since he'd entered the library, seemed to really tale a good look at Isabelle, including the smudged mascara around her puffy red eyes. "Iz," he said, suddenly concerned. "Have you been crying? What's wrong?"

Isabelle slowly looked up from the fire into Simon's worried eyes. Instead of answering, though, she quickly jumped up out of her chair, pulling Simon up out of his own chair, and brought him in close for a kiss.

About an hour later, the two of them found themselves under the blankets of one of the Institute's plush beds—this time in Isabelle's room—with considerably less clothing on than they'd been wearing earlier, Isabelle in only a lacy black bra and underwear and Simon in only his boxers. Isabelle's head lay on Simon's chest, tracing random shapes over his skin with her finger. "I saw my sister last night," said Simon, breaking the blissful silence they had encompassed themselves in.

Isabelle raised her head to look at him. "How is she?" she asked uncertainly.

"She's fine. My mom, thought. . . " Simon took a deep breath and pushed through. "People think she's crazy. She tells them that I'm dead, but they've seen me around so they know she's nuts."

"What does Rebecca think?"

"She knows about me, but she's not. . . I don't think she really understand what's going on with me or the extent of my powers."

Isabelle laughed. "Your powers? You're a vampire, not a warlock." Simon wasn't laughing. Isabelle sat up and looked down at him as she continued. "Why do you say that?" Simon didn't answer immediately. "Simon, what is it?"

"Rebecca wants me to influence my mom, make her think that I'm gone and never coming back."

"I'm guessing that by 'influence,' you aren't talking about just convincing your mother the old-fashioned way?"

Simon shook his head, sitting up as well. "Rebecca knows that I tried to make Mom forget about everything, and that the trance wore off pretty quickly because I wasn't good enough yet."

"So," Isabelle started slowly, "what are you going to do?"

"I'm not sure yet. I'd have to be strong first. I'd have to drink human blood—"

"Which isn't a problem," Izzy interrupted. "You know I'd do anything to help you and your family."

"I know but. . ." he paused, trying to find the right words to express his feeling. "I guess it's selfish, really, but I don't want them to think I'm going. I mean, I don't want to have to leave them. And I _would_ have to leave eventually. The whole thing would blow up in my face if it got back to my mother that I was still lurking around the city."

"Where would you go?" Isabelle asked, honestly curious.

"I'm not sure. Luke's farmhouse, maybe. No one would look for me there."

"The vampire seat on the council is open," Isabelle blurted out. She had no idea what had possessed her to say it.

"What?"

"The vampire that was been on the council was killed a few days ago. They think Sebastian had something to do with it. The council is going to be voting on a replacement soon. With your familiarity with the Clave and Shadowhunters in Idris, you could actually have a chance."

"The council?" Simon remarked thoughtfully.

"Yeah," Isabelle continued. "You wouldn't have to be there all the time, but there's a few clans in Idris. Not in Alicante, of course, but they're there. If you were thinking about it."

"I don't know, Iz," Simon answered apprehensively. "Idris is pretty far away. And I didn't exactly have a warm welcome the last time I was there. _And_ I won't know anyone there. I don't think my chances are that great."

"You'd know some people. The Penhallows, a couple of other Shadowhunters you met last time. My dad. . ."

"Your dad?" Simon said in bewilderment, and Isabelle suddenly realized that her father's election as the Inquisitor had not been made common knowledge amongst her friends just yet. Quickly, Isabelle explained to Simon about the council's decision as well as the one she was expected to make soon. "Wow," Simon replied plainly after a moment of shocked silence. Almost immediately, though, Simon's interest was piqued, and he jumped up, reaching out to touch Isabelle's arm. "But, Isabelle, don't you see what this could mean? If you came to Idris with me and your father, we could stay together. We wouldn't have an ocean separating us, and you'd be safer inside the wards in Alicante, and my family could be safe without me and. . ." Simon's voice faded away, the words lost on his lips as he read Isabelle's expression. "You've made your decision already, haven't you?" Isabelle nodded her head minutely. "And you aren't going with your father?"

Isabelle rushed to placate him. "I can't leave my Mom alone, Simon. Alec is eighteen now and he doesn't have to stay here. The Clave could send him away any time they wanted. And Jace is only seventeen. I know he means well, but he's not going to be able to help Mom with everything that needs to be done around here. Besides, who's to say he and Clary won't run off together and get married and break all allegiances with the Clave? He's so unpredictable right now. . ." Isabelle saw Simon's face go pale at the idea of Jace taking Clary away and swiftly jumped back in, trying her best to defend her decision to Simon. "My dad doesn't need me over in Idris with his new job. Just because he's leaving my family behind doesn't mean I'm going to. My mom needs me here, so I'm staying."

Simon, surprisingly, just reached out and took Izzy's hand, pulling her close. "Then so am I. I can protect my family, but I'm not leaving you. Just as long as you promise not to leave me."

Isabelle raised a hand to cup Simon's face. "Not a chance. You're not getting out of our relationship that easy. As a matter of fact," Isabelle said, pulling away and moving to her nightstand, "there's something I want to give you." Turning back to Simon, Isabelle held up her hand, holding something silver that glinted in the light. "This is my family ring. When two Shadowhunters get serious—like, marriage serious—they exchange family rings. I know you aren't a Shadowhunter and you don't have a ring—"

"And we're not getting married," Simon added, trying to hide his nervousness. "At least, as far as I know."

"No, we aren't getting married. But we're making a commitment. I'm never leaving you and you're never leaving me. Right?"

Simon picked up the hand that held the ring and kissed it. "Right." Beaming, Isabelle slid the ring onto Simon's left hand. Simon's arm snaked around Isabelle's waist, pulling her even closer to him into a deep kiss. After what seemed like hours—but what had probably been only a few seconds—Simon pulled away slightly, gazing into Isabelle's eyes. "I should probably go," he said to her.

Isabelle's eyes widened a little. "You just said—"

"I don't mean forever. It's just that I think I'm already getting on both of your brothers' bad sides, and I'm sure either of them finding me in your bedroom in my current state of undress wouldn't foster any good feelings in them."

"Better them than my mother. She'd kill you where you stood."

Simon smiled, though Isabelle noticed a gleam of fear in his eyes as well as a renewed sense of urgency in looking for his clothes. He quickly found his jacket where he'd torn it off next to the door. The rest of his clothes were scattered around Isabelle's messy bedroom, hidden in the mountains of her own laundry. "How do you find anything in this room?" he asked wondering where to begin.

Isabelle laughed at him, standing up to join him in his search. Nearly immediately, she managed to find his tee shirt and one of his shoes, and set off to look for the other.

"Oh," Simon said, pawing cautiously around one of the many clothes piles. "I meant to ask you earlier but I got. . . distracted." He shot a sly grin over to Isabelle who just rolled her eyes at him. "What was wrong with you? You looked like you'd been crying."

Isabelle paused before answering, having found his other shoe and now looking for his pants. "We're both in such good moods," she answered wearily. "Why did you have to spoil it?" She reached toward the bed, dropping the clothes on the heavy comforter.

Simon, noticing her discomfort, abandoned his own attempts at finding the rest of his clothes and went to stand in front of Isabelle, rubbing her arms comfortingly. "Isabelle, come on. You know there's nothing you could say that would make me angry with you. I'm worried about you. Please just talk to me."

Isabelle turned from him and closed her eyes, bracing herself for the bombshell she was about to drop. "I followed Clary earlier, after she left the Institute," Isabelle finally said, not yet opening her eyes. "I told you I wasn't going to let her out of my sight, and I didn't."

"Okay," Simon responded cautiously. "And? What happened? Who was she meeting?"

Isabelle inhaled, filling her lungs in an effort to calm her racing thoughts. She turned, opening her eyes and answered Simon. "Meliorn."

"Meliorn? That faerie knight you used to date?" Isabelle nodded solemnly. "What the Hell would Clary want with him? Haven't we already established that the faeries work with Sebastian?"

"Yeah, I know. That's what I thought too."

"Well did you talk to her? Did she say anything about it?" Simon was clearly on edge now, the questions that had already run through Isabelle's head no doubt running through his.

"Yes, I talked to her," Isabelle answered evasively, dreading the approaching topic, though realizing that it need to be addressed.

"She got really defensive and said that she thought that Meliorn could lead her to her brother."

"Oh," Simon said, taken aback. "Well, even though I still can't believe she went off alone, I guess that makes sense." He leaned down to examine a new pile of clothes and, finally locating his pants, shrugged them on over his boxer shorts.

"Except that's not all Simon," Isabelle continued hazardously, not meeting Simon's eyes. "The reason I was so upset when you found me, well. . ." Isabelle bit her lip in hesitation, groping for the proper string of words that, when put together and sppoken, would cause the least amount of shock to Simon.

Simon noticed the pause and tried to catch Isabelle's gaze. "Come on, Iz, what is it? You're freaking me out."

Isabelle raised a pair of cautious eyes to Simon's as she answered. "I think something's wrong with Clary, Simon." Before Simon could answer with the same argument as Alec—that Clary had just been through something traumatic and was under a lot a stress—Isabelle held up her hand, cutting off any response Simon had been forming. "When Clary came back, Magnus told Alec that something was off about Clary. He'd said Clary had been faking unconsciousness and that there was something dark about her, something he didn't understand. But there was one thing that was more different than anything—her eyes. Magnus had said that there was something in her eyes that he just didn't like. I didn't understand what he was talking about until earlier." Isabelle stopped to take a breath. Luckily, Simon didn't seem to be inclined to interrupt so she continued. "When we were arguing earlier, I got a good look at her eyes. They weren't just angry. They were cold, like the eyes of a dead person or. . ." Isabelle hesitated before adding," or a demon."

Simon was quiet for a moment, clearly contemplating his answer carefully. Finally, he shook his head confusedly. "I'm lost here, Isabelle. What are you getting at?"

"I think she's a dark Shadowhunter, Simon," Isabelle stated bluntly.

Simon's eyes widened in shock at her accusation. "What the Hell? You're—"

"I am not crazy or paranoid! I already heard that whole speech from Alec—"

"And you should have." Simon laughed shakily. "Look, Iz. You're tired. You haven't slept in days and I'm sure our little. . .interlude didn't help wake you up too much."

"This isn't a joke, Simon," Isabelle responded incredulously.

"I don't think so, either, Isabelle. But, really, her eyes? That's all you've got to go on? That's a bit of a stretch isn't it?"

The words stung like a slap to the face. Her head was spinning and she needed some time alone, to think and to figure out her next course of action. "Get out," she grumbled under her breath.

Simon's smile fell. "Isabelle—"

She grabbed up his tee shirt and shoes off the bed and bundled them up before throwing them at him. They landed at Simon's feet. "Take your clothes and go!: Isabelle shouted.

"Come on," Simon remarked incredulously. "You don't mean that. I know you're upset—"

Isabelle made a quick dash to a small pile of weapons in the corner, picking up a small dagger and holding it out in front of her. "Want to tell me again that I don't mean it?" She gestured toward the door with the knife, the lights bouncing off and making it gleam wickedly, before pointing the sharp point back at Simon. "Out. Now."

Wide-eyed, Simon picked up his shirt and shoes, careful never to take his eyes off Isabelle, and backed slowly away, eventually reaching the door. The only time he broke eye contact was when the door finally closed shut behind him.

In a fit of anger. Isabelle sent the dagger sailing through the air, embedding itself into the wood of her bedroom door.

 _Fine_ , she thought. _Everyone else just thinks I'm crazy. But I'll show them. I'll prove to them that Clary is still far from safe, and it will take a lot more to get her back._

 

When Clary had arrived back at the Institute, Jace had been waiting in the cathedral for her. The second she walked through the front door, the never-ending barrage of questions began. "Where have you been? I've been calling you—"

"Knock it off, Jace. You can lay off the chivalrous boyfriend act for just a few minutes, can't you?" Jace opened his mouth—he no doubt had been planning a lecture for her about the dangers of the world since he'd realized she was gone—but she held up a hand and continued, never giving him a chance to get a word in. "I was with Simon and Isabelle, alright?"

"Really? Because Simon just called to see if you were back yet because he tried calling your cell phone for an hour and you never answered. He sounded really worried."

"Yeah," Clary stuttered. tripping over her own words as she groped for an explanation that would sate Jace's curiosity. "He said he had a family thing to take care of, so he left early. I'm sure he just wanted to talk about that or something. I'll call him back in a minute."

"And Isabelle?" Jace asked skeptically.

"Right here," Isabelle gasped breathlessly, scuffling through the front door and closing it behind her. She and Clary had been separated before, so Clary was pleasantly surprised that the other girl had managed to catch up and prevent at least some of Jace's tirade. "Sorry," Isabelle continued after she'd caught her breath. "Had to pay the cab and then I tripped coming up the stairs. I've been so clumsy all day, right Clary?"

Clary smiled briefly, nodding gratefully to Isabelle, knowing that the other girl could all too easily have revealed where the two of them had truly been earlier. :Right. And you wonder what took us so long."

"I don't care about that. I care that you snuck out _again_ , given what happened last time."

"I'm more concerned that I have to _sneak out_ of the place I call my home right now just to get some Christmas shopping in with my best friend and his girlfriend."

"Well," Isabelle interjected awkwardly. "This is obviously something between the two of you. I'm just going to go. . .do something else. . .in the farthest room away from here I can go." She hastily brushed past Jace, making her way to the elevator.

"I'll talk to you later about always helping my girlfriend with her suicidal plans."

Isabelle slowed her walking to listen to him, but didn't turn to look in his direction. As soon as he had finished speaking, she sped up and was out of sight in seconds. Clary hit Jace hard on his arm. Jace brought his hand up to cover the spot where her gloved hand had come in contact with his bare skin, more in surprise than in pain. "What—?"

"Stop it! I don't need to be handled, Jace!"

"I'd beg to differ, given your track record."

"My 'track record'? I'm still alive, aren't I? And so are you, by the way. If it weren't for me, you'd be dead right now and the world would be in ashes."

"Bringing me back from the dead isn't exactly evidence of your good judgment."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Just that, logically speaking, bringing me back was a lapse in judgment. I'm grateful, don't get me wrong, but using the angel's powers for that—"

Clary threw her hands in the air. "What would you have had me ask for? World peace? An end to world hunger? To destroy all demons on Earth?"

"I'm just saying that you shouldn't have done it."

"I've risked my life countless time for you. Like when I went with you to the apartment with Sebastian. I put myself in danger just to protect you. I put my life on the line."

"That's my point! You always feel like your life doesn't matter, that you can just throw it away whenever you feel like it. You always think you need to be a martyr."

"Being a martyr is better than being a damsel in distress all the time, always waiting for someone to come and rescue me!" Clary retorted stormily.

"You shouldn't put your life on the line for stupid reason like going out shopping or whatever the Hell you were really doing."

"What we were really doing? I told you what we were really doing, Jace. You know, you're starting to turn into one of those overbearing, jealous boyfriends who suffocates their girlfriend and never lets them out of their sight."

"I'm just worried about you. Is that so bad?"

"It's _my_ life, Jace. Mine to live, mine to do with what I want and you can't be the one controlling it. If I want to risk my life, that's my choice and my cross to bear, not yours."

"You act like your life isn't important to anyone else besides yourself! What do you think would happen to your Mom if you died? Or to Simon or to Luke? Or to me?"

"You'd mourn me," Clary replied solemnly. "Some of you for weeks, some of you for months. Some of you for years, I guess. But you'd move on eventually. You'd forget about me. Mom and Luke would get married, start a family of their own. They'd live happily ever after. Simon has Isabelle and his family. He doesn't even need me anymore."

"You can't really believe that," Jace remarked incredulously.

Clary shook her head and looked at the floor, hastily wiping away tears. "Yes I can. I do."

"What about me? You're the center of my world, Clary."

"You're seventeen, Jace. How do you know I'm the only love of your life? Yes, you'd move on and find some other Shadowhunter girl that's right for you, one who's been raised like a Shadowhunter, one that you can talk to about weapons and demons and what it's like to live in Idris and—"

"I don't _want_ to move on, Clary! I don't want to lose you at all. I want to spend my life with you!"

"Jace, we're teenagers. We're just hormonally charged teenagers that fell in love with the first person that made us feel special, made us feel right. But are we going to feel the same way in ten years? Are we both going to be alive in ten years? Hell, is the _world_ even going to be here in ten years? How do you know what you want to do with the rest of your life? My mom and Valentine got married when they were our age and she felt the same way about him that I feel about you and that you say you feel about me. Valentine was perfect, he was an angel, he was the love of her life, the father of her children. But he turned out to be a monster."

"What are saying?" Jace asked, his face a mix of anger and betrayal. "That you don't love me anymore because you're worried that I'll turn out like the man who raised me? Because, if that's it, Clary, I've told you. I'm nothing like him."

"No, of course not! I'm just saying. . . Don't give your heart away so fully to someone you've only known for a few months."

"I feel like I've known you my whole life."

"We met in August. Out of all the Shadowhunters I could have met at Pandemonium that night, it had to be you." Clary smiled and shook her head, fighting back a second wave of tears.

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Of course not." Clary's voice was pleading. "It's just that. . . You say you can't live without me. But we only ever met by chance. It's crazy that we let one chance meeting change our outlooks on life so drastically."

"Why do I feel like you're breaking up with me?"

"That's not what this is, Jace. I'm just. . . I'm not sure how much longer we have together. You need to keep your options open."

Jace reached out and picked up Clary's hand; Clary resisted the urge deep down inside of her to snatch it away. "Hey," he said, pulling her close enough that she could feel the heavenly fire's heat pulsing beneath his skin. "I don't have to keep my options open. Because you aren't going anywhere." Jace brushed his lips lightly against Clary's.

Clary pulled away a few inches to look up at him. "Jace—" she protested, but he put a finger to her lips to silence her.

"You're not going anywhere. I won't let you." Slowly, Jace pulled Clary to him, drawing her lips his, gently at first and then more fiercely. Her fingers tangled in his hair and his hands ran up and down her sides. He pushed her until her back was up against the front doors, his body pinning hers in place.

"Jace," she gasped when they finally came apart to breathe. His mouth still ravished hers, planting tiny kisses on it every other word. "I. . . am not. . . having sex. . . in a church."

"It's not a real church," he reasoned. Jace's hand slipped behind Clary's knee, pulling it forward and around his waist. Clary, however, had not been expecting this and lost her balance, pulling Jace down on top of her as she fell.

They kissed for what seemed like an eternity before Clary suddenly pushed Jace away. A searing pain ran across her skin in several different places. Around them, fires blazed hot, even on Jace's shirt. He, however, hadn't seemed to notice and had continued kissing Clary's neck, leaving scalding burns with every touch. "Jace!" she exclaimed, pushing him away more forcefully this time. He looked up, finally understanding, and pulled away from Clary. Standing up, he slammed his eyes shut and ran his hands through his hair. "Jace, we have to go get someone before you spontaneously combust or something."

"Hush!" he demanded, turning his focus inward. Clary could see by the tension in his muscles and the pained look on his face that he was angry to have lost control and was now fighting hard to get it back. Slowly, Clary watched in amazement as the golden glow from Jace's skin dimmed and finally faded away entirely. Around Clary, the small fires soon consumed themselves as well, leaving char marks on the wooden floor, pews, and doors.

"You. . ." Clary began, still trying understand what it was he had done. "You can control it. The Silent Brothers—"

"They're still working on it. I'm not cured. But I can reign it in. I learned how to calm myself down."

"How?"

"It's best if you don't know all the details," Jace replied sheepishly.

"That's great, Jace," Clary said emptily. "That you figured out how to handle it, I mean."

"You don't sound happy about it."

"It's still. . . Not the way it was. You still caught fire when we kissed. I think we should still take it slow."

Jace pursed his lips, but agreed, albeit disgruntledly. "Okay."

"Okay." An awkward silence fell between them. Clary avoided looking at Jace, afraid eye contact would dissolve her self-discipline and draw her back to him again. "Well," she said, casting a glance in Jace's general direction and fumbling for an excuse to leave. She spoke haltingly. "I should go call Simon. From my room. And then sleep. I think. I mean, I'm exhausted. It's been a long couple of days."

Jace caught her arm as she turned away. "Wait, Clary. I've been wanting to talk to you. We've barely said two words to each other since you came back."

"Because. . ." Clary trailed off. She breathed in deeply and then caught Jace's almost desperate gaze as she started again. "Because I know what you want to talk about. And I just don't think I can talk about it right now."

"We have to talk about it eventually, Clary. I can't help you if you don't talk to me about what happened."

"You always think you need to help me," Clary joked half-heartedly, cracking a half smile. She shook her head. "I'm dealing with on my own."

"It doesn't seem like that to me."

"I am," she insisted. "I just need some more time to figure everything out. To figure out how I feel."

"About me?"                 

"About you, about how much I hate my brother, about the fact that my life is completely different than I saw it being six months ago. It's just insane and backwards."

"I can help. If you'll let me, that is."

"This isn't anything you can help with, Jace. This is something I have to figure out by myself."

"I just hate the idea of you being alone," Jace said dejectedly.

"I'm not alone. You're still here for me, whenever I need you. I know that. And I'm grateful. But this is just one time when you can't be my knight in shining armor."

Jace scoffed sarcastically, the same old Jace that Clary had fallen for. "Of course not. I never wear armor. The silver washes out my beautiful golden skin. I'm more like your Shadowhunter in stealthy, black gear." Clary laughed softly. Jace held out his arm to her. "Well, malady, would you like me to escort you to your chambers?"

"What would you be protecting me from inside the Institute?"

"Dragons. Demons. One overly protective mother to whom I may have mentioned I didn't know where you were. . ."

Clary hit Jace's shoulder again, more playfully than before. "You told her!"

"Do you want my escort now, malady?"

Clary rolled her eyes and took Jace's arm. "Fine. As long as you stop calling me 'malady.'"

"Of course, malady." Jace chuckled at her cross expression as he led her to her bedroom.

 

As Simon began his route back to his apartment, his mind ran away from him, contemplating the idea that his life had gotten so severely screwed up over the past few months. This wasn't how he imagined his sixteenth year to be at all. He'd expected to go to school, like always, and hang out with Clary at Midtown Comics complaining about new teachers and homework; then, on the weekends, they'd hang out at Java Jones and listen to some of Eric's lousy poetry and laugh over new band names. Clary would come to all his gigs and then lie and tell him they'd been amazing when, really, she'd escaped to the bathroom after their second song. They'd live happy, normal lives like they were supposed to, blissfully ignorant of the darker Shadow world that surrounded them.

That's how things were supposed to be. That's how things should have happened. But, that one night, Clary had wanted to have fun and relax before all of the back-to-school madness began. And, even though Simon hated Pandemonium, he'd gone with her, to have fun, but also to keep her safe around the weirdoes that hung around the sketchy club. If he'd only known. . .

No, Simon chastised himself. He couldn't bring himself to regret going that night and meeting the Shadowhunters. Everything that had happened since then had led him to Izzy.He never would have met her if it weren't for that one night at Pandemonium. He never would have met Maia, either, or Jordan or Alec or Magnus. He never would have met Jace either, but that wasn't exactly a great selling point.

Sure, lots of bad things had happened since then too, like meeting the crazier half of Clary's family and becoming a vampire and almost dying several times. But all of that had been the paving stones to his relationship with Isabelle. Could he ever bring himself to wish any of that away, especially if it meant wishing away his relationship?

Simon's cell phone rang in his pocket, jolting him out of his mind and into the real world.

"Hey, Becky," he answered as casually as possible. That was another thing to consider under the category of "things the Shadow World had ruined for him"—his family.

"Simon?" There was a note in Rebecca's voice that Simon couldn't quite name. It wasn't fear or sadness. It was just kind of. . . empty.

"Rebecca? Is everything okay? You sound. . .upset."

"I'm fine. But I need your help. Can you meet me?"

"Of course," he assured her, his curiosity and worry growing by the second. "Where are you?"

"Gramercy Park Hotel."

"The. . . The what? Where is that?"

"Yeah, on Lex. I'll text the address to your phone."

"Lexington Avenue? Becks, are you in the city?" To any Brooklyn kid, Manhattan was always 'the city'.

Simon's sister ignored the question. "We have the penthouse suite. Tell the receptionist that Mrs. Rose is expecting you and he'll send you up."

"Slow down, Rebecca. What's going on? Why are you in the city? How the Hell are you affording the penthouse suite in a Manhattan hotel? And what's with the fake name? Are you in some kind of trouble? Did you piss off a mob boss or something?"

"Too many questions. We'll talk when you get here." Before Simon could ask anything else, Rebecca had hung up the phone.

After an hour of trekking through the public transportation systems of New York City, along with a fair share of walking, Simon finally arrived at the hotel where Rebecca had asked to meet him.

Polite nods from hotel staff met him, though several pairs of eyes followed him suspiciously as he made his way to the receptionist's desk. He suddenly wished he had the forethought to go home and change out of his ripped jeans and hoodie before coming to a five-star Manhattan hotel. He's only ever heard of the luxury of these hotels that movies stars and the richest of the rich stayed at when they made trips to stay in the city. Actually being in one blew all of his preconceptions to pieces. The lobby alone was wide and spacious, with not a fleck of dust to be seen. A large lit Christmas tree stood off to the side, casting a brilliant glow onto the nearby polished wooden tables and chairs, which gleamed beautifully like pieces of art. Fleetingly, Simon thought back to the Hotel Dumort, in its dilapidated and sad state. He wondered if it had ever been quite as glorious as the Gramercy.

Finally, after enduring the judgmental glares of disapproving hotel staff and guests alike, Simon arrived at the reception desk. The woman behind it spoke without looking up from her computer screen.

"Welcome to Gramercy. How may I help you?" She raised her head and gave Simon a once-over, scowling.

Simon cleared his throat nervously. "My sister is expecting me. She. . . um, she's staying in the penthouse suite."

The lady behind the desk—Muriel, if her name tag was correct—scoffed. "Yeah, and my brother lives in the White House."

Simon bit his tongue to keep from uttering a nasty retort. "I'm not kidding," he answered, pausing to recall the name Rebecca had given him. "Mrs. Rose is expecting me."

Muriel's expression changed immediately. For a brief moment, she just looked confused. Her eyes glazed over and she froze, the sardonic grin on her face fading. Then, in an instant, the expression was gone, replaced by a warm, understanding smile. Though, Simon noted uneasily, the glaze over her eyes remained intact. Numbly, the woman opened a drawer in the desk beneath the computed and handed over a small paper envelope with the hotel's logo printed on it.

"I apologize for the misunderstanding, Mr. Lewis. Of course Mrs. Rose informed us of your visit. Here is the key you will need to access the penthouse suite as well as the elevator. Is there anything else you'll be needing?" The woman flipped her hair over her shoulder to reveal her pale neck—that was covered in bite marks. Vampire bite marks. Okay. As if things weren't making sense already. . .

Simon hesitantly took the key card. "No. Thank you. That's all."

Muriel beamed at him. "Of course, sir. I'll call up to Mrs. Rose's room now to let her know that you have arrival." She inclined her head toward the bank of elevators on the far wall, further exposing the bite marks—each at different stages of healing—and then gave him another quick smile before reaching for the telephone on the reception desk.

Simon made his way to the elevators, relieved when he was able to ride in one alone. He inserted the key card and pressed the button for the penthouse suite. As the elevator rose silently to the highest floor, Simon's anxiety began to build tremendously. What the Hell was going on here? Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long for an answer.

"Becky?" Simon called as he entered the suite. There was no answer. "Rebecca? It's me, Simon." The suite, Simon could see, was huge and overly-luxurious, easily a $5,000-a-night price tag. Empty champagne and liquor bottles were strewn everywhere, too much for any one person to drink, even given an entire year. _Someone else has been here_ , Simon thought to himself.

He turned a corner and stopped. "There you are," Simon said, relieved upon seeing a familiar tangle of dark brown hair. His sister, who was seated on a bright blue push sofa, did not turn to look at her brother. "Becks?" Simon asked, cautiously inching his was around the edge of the sofa. His sister's gaze was dead ahead, out the window, her eyes unwavering. "Becks, are you alright?"

"I hope you aren't expecting an answer any time soon," said a familiar voice behind him, and Simon did an about-face, his gaze falling upon Eric, who was standing before him with the same glazed-over stupor on his face that both the desk clerk and Rebecca wore.

"Why? What's wrong with her? What's wrong with you?" There was something beyond unnerving about this situation, and all of Simon's instincts were telling him to run as far away as he could as fast as possible.

"I hope you aren't expecting an answer anytime soon," Eric repeated exactly as he had said it before.

"He's here because I asked him to be." Simon froze at the sound of another unmistakably familiar voice. The small hairs on the back of his neck shot up as the fourth person in the room crossed behind him, finally coming into view as she stepped around Simon and strode over to Eric. Maureen. She stood in what must have been seven inch heels—which made her even taller than Eric—and wore a white, lacey dress so short it could have been marketed as a shirt, covered by a leather jacket that draped over her shoulders perfectly. "So is she," she continued, inclining her head to where Simon's sister sat as still as a statue on the sofa. Maureen had moved to stand behind Eric and now reached up a hand to tip his head to the side, revealing marks and bruises identical to the ones Simon had seen on the receptionist. Flashing her fangs once at Simon, then bit into the soft flesh of Eric's neck faster than a protest could form itself in Simon's throat.

"Maureen, what are you doing? Stop!" he yelled, gripping her shoulder hard.

Maureen shoved his hand away and took a step back from Eric, wiping blood off of her lips. "Relax, will you? Unlike some people, I know when to stop myself."

Simon's stomach churned. "That's not fair."

Maureen smiled at him, her fangs still extended and shining dangerously. She moved closer, closing the distance between the two of them. "I'm not mad at you, Simon. I don't blame you for giving me this life. Even though, technically, all you ever did was bite me. Lilith's the reason I'm a vampire. But you introduced me to this world. This wonderful world. Because of you, I knew vampires don't have to be monsters."

"So you just chose to be one of your own accord? How nice."

"I'm the leader of my own vampire clan, aren't I?"

"You've been leaving a string of bodies all around the city. Humans, vampires—"

"They don't want to listen to me. But I killed Camille. I'm their rightful leader. Raphael has them all under his thumb."

"So what are you doing her, Maureen?"

Maureen shrugging innocently. "This is my suite."

"Like Hell. You're fourteen years old. There's no way you can afford a place like this."

"I'm not the one paying. It's a gift. I wanted to talk to you, away from your Shadowhunter friends."

"And you couldn't do that without my best friend or my sister?"

"Oh, come on, Simon. You and I both know you'd have hung up the second you heard my voice. I borrowed Rebecca for her voice."

"What about Eric?"

"You've only seen a couple of the people I've been using the influence thing on.  It's exhausting and I need blood to make it work properly. Eric saw me on the street a few weeks ago and he was a little confused. I mean, I'm supposed to be dead, right? I needed to make him forget but I needed blood too and one thing led to another and how he's like my own little puppy."

"When was the last time you drank a puppy's blood? No," Simon interrupted quickly, holding up his hand as Maureen opened her mouth to respond. "Don't answer that. Knowing you, it was probably this morning."

Maureen flashed a devilish grin at him.

"Okay, so he's here because you need blood."

"He's here because he's someone that listens that also just happens to have a beating heart," Maureen replied icily, her face remaining placid but her voice betraying a sense of irritability.

Simon looked past her to his sister, carefully surveying Rebecca's neck for any marks like Eric's.

"No," Maureen answered his unasked question, having followed his gaze. "I didn't hurt her. She's fine. I wouldn't do that, not when she means so much to you."

"Then why is she still here? You got what you needed for her. Let her go."

"Not yet. The way I see it, she's the only reason you're still here. The second I let her and my little puppy go, you'll leave too. I don't want you to leave just yet."

"What do you want?" Simon bit out through gritted teeth.

"I told you, I want to talk to you."

"About what?"

"A few things," Maureen replied coyly.

Simon scoffed and shook his head. "I'm leaving."

Maureen looked furious that Simon wasn't afraid of her. "What about your sister?"

"You said you wouldn't hurt her. If you won't let her go, I'll just come back with my Shadowhunters, as you call them. I'll get her back one way or another."

Maureen's smirk fell a little, but returned more brilliant than before when an idea came to her. "I won't her, you're right. I never said anything about Eric." Before Simon could even register her words, Maureen had pulled Eric to her by his arm, pulled a small dagger from her jacket pocket, and held it to Eric's throat.

Simon froze. "Maureen, what are you doing?"

"I won't kill him. I'll have more fun than that. Eric here has been drinking my blood for the past few days. Slitting his throat would only end his mortal life. I should know."

"You turned him into a subjugate. You don't need the influence powers anymore. He'll do anything you want him to."

Maureen nodded. "He'd jump off the roof if I asked him to. But I like the idea of a dagger turning him into a vampire, especially if I'm the one holding it. It's poetic."

"It's insane!"

"All you have to do is stay. Don't be so difficult, Simon." When Simon didn't answer, Maureen grew impatient, pressing the knife against Eric's throat and drawing a tiny drop of blood.

"Alright, fine!" Simon shouted. "You want to talk, so talk. Let him go."

Maureen's wicked smiled widened and, after a moment, she dropped the blade slowly from Eric's throat. "I knew you weren't totally clueless. But, just in case," she added, putting a hand on Eric's shoulder and turning him to look into her eyes. She placed the dagger in his hand. "If Simon leaves," she instructed, her voice soft and lulling, "take this dagger and kill yourself." She inclined her head toward Rebecca, still sitting on the couch. "But kill her first."

Eric nodded absentmindedly. As Maureen led Simon into the adjoining kitchen area, he couldn't help but feel nauseated at the idea of Eric killing his sister and turning himself into a vampire. "You have to let them go, Maureen."

"Listen to what I have to say and I will."

"Both of them?"

"Of course." Maureen grinned at him.

"Okay, then," Simon said, sitting down at the glass kitchen table. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I have an offer for you," Maureen answered vaguely. She walked over to the refrigerator, grabbing a wine cooler from the door and then closing it, turning back and striding over to join Simon at the table. "Though, if my boyfriend knew I was here, and who I was talking to, he wouldn't be too happy."

"Your boyfriend?" Simon asked. That wasn't what he was expecting.

Maureen popped the top off the glass bottle and took a sip before answering. "You didn't think I'd stay obsessed over you forever, did you?" Simon didn't answer, silently watching Maureen intently. Eventually, Maureen continued. "This new guy, he's way more powerful than you could ever imagine. He's strong, he's smart, he's drop dead gorgeous. . ." She stopped, apparently reminiscing in the image of this new "gorgeous" guy.

Simon cleared his throat. "As much as I would like to listen to you talk about your love life after me, I fail to see what this even has to _do_ with me."

"I have a point, you know."

"Then make it."

"My _point_ ," Maureen continued, "is that I don't have to do this for you. He's going to be pissed when I do. But I owe you. I've always cared about you, Simon, and so I want to make sure you have a chance to survive. You should have a choice in this. Sebastian isn't planning on giving you one, but—"

"Sebastian? _That's_ your boyfriend?" Simon remarked incredulously.

"Wow. The judgment in this room is literally palpable."

Simon leaned forward over the table. "Maureen, you have to know how crazy he is."

"He takes care of me. He's helping me with my vampires. He paid for this room. He killed his last vampire friend to make room for me. I think he really likes me, Simon. He makes me happy."

Simon sighed, closing his eyes, knowing that he was walking on eggshells in saying what he said next. "Maureen," he began carefully, "you can _not_ trust him."

"Oh. That's adorable. You're jealous."

"He's a murderer, a psychopath. He doesn't care about anybody, Maureen, and you aren't any different. You aren't the exception. He's just using you and as soon as he's done with you, he's going to kill you just like he kills everyone else that runs their course of usefulness for him."

"You don't know what you're talking about. He's not going to kill me. He is, however, planning on killing you and all of the Shadowhunters in one big sacrifice thing—" she took in Simon's skeptical look, and continued. "Look, I may not know the whole plan, but I know that he wants you all to die. But that's not what he wants."

"Oh, because you have a heart of gold and you just want everybody to live together in harmony and peace. Grow up, Maureen."

"That's not what I said," Maureen snapped, her irritation growing. "I don't care about the others. And there's nothing I could do to save them even if I wanted to. Sebastian wants them dead more than anything in the world. You, on the other hand, aren't on his list. At least, you don't have to be. I can help you." Maureen reached a hand across the table to grasp Simon's. "Come back with me and you'll be fine. You'll be safe from him. When he sees how important you are to me, and that you've joined our side, he'll let you live in his new world."

Simon shook his head in disbelief. "Why would you even do that for me?"

"How can you ask that? I may not be totally obsessed with you anymore but. . . Well, I still care about you."

"Maureen—"

"Don't answer right now. You're going to say no because you still love your Shadowhunters. But I can keep you safe, Simon. I could even keep your family safe. I know you've been worried about them, Rebecca told me."

"Maureen. . ." Simon said slowly, placing a hand over hers. "You know I can't do that. Clary's my best friend. Isabelle's my girlfriend. That whole family means the world to me."

"More than your real family?"

"If you were really my friend, if you really cared about me, you wouldn't make me chose one over the other!"

"There is no choice, Simon! You either choose our side and live with your family, or you can die on the side of the Shadowhunters."

Simon nodded solemnly and stood up from the table. "Then I guess this is goodbye."

Maureen shook her head wildly, jumping up from her own seat. "What? No, Simon! Are you crazy?"

"Very much so, apparently. But that doesn't change anything. Those people, they're who I belong with. They're who I stand with."

"But you're family—"

"You said you were going to let my sister go if I listened to you. Eric too. I'll find my own way to protect my family. I don't need the blood of the Shadowhunter race, not to mention my best friends, on my hands."

"He'll kill you, Simon," Maureen replied, her voice pained. "This is your last chance to join us."

"I'm not going to join Sebastian's side."

"Then you'll die."

Simon shrugged his shoulders. "Or Sebastian will die."

"That's never going to happen. He's always twenty steps ahead of you guys."

Simon ignored her, walking back into the living room with Maureen following him. Eric, upon seeing Simon, moved toward Rebecca, dagger in hand. Before Simon could have a major panic attack, though, Maureen spoke. "It's alright, Eric. Relax. No one is going to die today. You can give me my dagger back." Eric responded immediately, stepping away from Simon's sister—as soon as he did, Simon let go of a breath he hadn't even realized he'd taken in—and bringing Maureen the dagger. "Rebecca," Maureen continued, striding over to stand in front of Simon's sister. "You're going to leave with your brother. As soon as you are outside of the hotel, you can talk. Nod if you understand." Rebecca nodded, her eyes still glazed over, but her conscious thought seeming to flood back. She stood up and walked over to Simon, standing silently by his side.

"And Eric?"

Maureen seemed reluctant to lose her favorite plaything. "Fine," she said finally. "I have to leave the city soon anyway. I can find some new puppies where I'm going."

"And where might that be?" Simon tried nonchalantly.

"Nice try, Simon." Maureen took Eric by the shoulders and looked carefully into his eyes. Apparently, the trance she'd put him in had been way stronger than the one on Rebecca. "Eric, you're going to listen to Simon now. You're going to leave with him and you're going to do whatever he wants you to do." Eric nodded and moved to stand on the other side of Simon than Rebecca.

"Maureen, that's not what we agreed on. I don't want him as my subjugate. I want him as my human friend, like Rebecca, like he was before."

"You act like you know everything about vampires and you don't even realize how impossible that is? Eric is a subjugate. He has to either continue to be one or he has to be turned. There is no going back."

Simon gaped at her. "Tell me you aren't serious."

"I never planned on him leaving, Simon. He was always supposed to stay with me. Sebastian told me that that's how it has to be, that there's no going back once you've been touched by the demon disease."

Simon examined Eric, who was looking at Simon with the same glazed over eyes he had looked at Maureen with, an almost worshipping expression on his face. Simon knew the loyalty of subjugates. Eric would do anything he wanted him to do. Gravely, Simon nodded in understanding. No point in arguing about something that couldn't be changed.

"Goodbye, Simon." Maureen's voice was placid, hiding any emotion she might have been feeling.

"You can come with me too, you know," said Simon thoughtfully.

This seemed to catch Maureen totally off guard. "What?"

"Come with me," Simon pleaded. Though he knew he had only ever bitten Maureen, he knew she was the way she was, involved in the Shadow World, because of him. Because of that, he felt responsible for her. "It isn't too late. If you come with me right now, I could take you to my people. They could help you."

"Your people are going to die."

"I have faith in them. But I know you will die if you stay with Sebastian."

Maureen shook her head, a sad look in her eyes. "You don't know that."

"Yes I do," he assured her, but she continued, talking over his voice instead of listening to the words he said.

"It doesn't matter anyway. The Clave would never forgive me. Like you've said, I've been leaving a string of bodies all around the city. I'm a monster."

"The Clave would forgive you if they understood what happened, that you didn't know the rules, didn't have anyone to teach you how to control yourself."

"The Clave shoots first and asks questions later, Simon. As soon as the Shadowhunters see me, I'll die. Sebastian is my only choice."

"It doesn't have to be this way," Simon replied despairingly, though he knew Maureen was probably right.

A single, bloody tear slipped down Maureen's cheek which she wiped away quickly, smearing the blood on her face. It should have looked scary. There was a time when it would have to Simon. But now, it just looked sad. "No," she said wistfully, cracking a melancholy smile. "This is where I stand, Simon."

"Since when do you sound so damned wise?" Simon said, and both he and Maureen laughed despite themselves.

"I guess it's some great immortality vampire thing."

"No," Simon said gently, putting a hand on Maureen's shoulder. "It's a Maureen thing."

 

"Luke?" Jordan called, knocking heavily on the front door of the downtown police station. He brought his hand down his side, shifting his weight nervously between his feet. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder at his truck, parked on the curb where he'd told the other three werewolves to wait. Cale looked out the window in awe as he had been from the moment Jordan had driven into the city. Beside his brother, Michael sat, trying to keep an impassive expression, but not quite able to keep the wonder of what was no doubt his first visit to the big city off of his face.

Sitting behind them, in the bed of the truck, was the other boy. On the ride back, Jordan had racked his brain trying to figure out where he knew the boy from. Finally, he had realized that the two of them had been in the same training class and had even graduated together, though they didn't really know each other. The only thing Jordan knew about him—besides the fact that this guy had followed him out of the Praetor—was the boy's name. Hayden. It had taken Jordan a while to recall his last name, and when he had, he had nearly lost control of the truck in surprise—the boy's name was Hayden _Scott_. Praetor Scott's grandson.

As Jordan turned back to the door again, Hayden was still on his mind. He was part of one of the most powerful werewolf bloodlines, training to take over the Praetor from his grandfather when the time came. His betrayal must have caught Scott off guard, and Jordan wondered what had made him choose the way he had. It was almost suspicious to Jordan—after all, he knew Scott wasn't above sending spies into enemy territory—but Jordan set the thought aside for the moment, knocking on the door again.

"Luke!" he said, trying to keep his voice loud enough to catch Luke's attention inside, but low enough where the other people on the street wouldn't look at him too closely. Growing impatient and increasingly aware that he was out in the open, alone, with Clary's brother on the loose, Jordan pounded on the door more persistently, raising his voice as loud as he dared. "Luke, come on, it's—" His comment was interrupted when the door beneath his fist opened, revealing someone who, to Jordan's dismay, was not Luke. Instead, Maia stood in the doorway looking up at Jordan in astonishment. Clearly, whoever she'd been expecting had been anyone _but_ her boyfriend.

"Jordan?" she said confusedly. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to Luke," he answered hurriedly. "Is he around?"

"No, he's not here. He's still with Jocelyn at the Institute. Why? Jordan, what's going? You looked pretty freaked out."

"I don't have time to explain," Jordan said, though it was clear in his voice that he wanted to tell Maia everything. "I have to get to Luke."

As Jordan turned to leave, Maia caught hold of his arm, her grip gentle but fierce, and she stepped out onto the sidewalk beside him, pulling the door closed behind her. "Wait, Jordan. Please." Maia pulled her jacket tight against her body, protecting it from the cold December chill. "Talk to me. What's going on?" Maia looked to her left, something catching her attention. She raised a questioning eyebrow. "Who's that in your car?"

Jordan followed her gaze, though he knew what she was seeing. Cale was still dazzled by the city, pointing out several things to his brother, who was nodding and listening patiently. Hayden sat in the back of the truck, looking around nervously. He glanced back at Maia. "They're Praetor. At least, they were."

"'Were?' What are you talking about?"

"It's a long story."

"I've got time."

Half an hour later, Maia sat across from Jordan at a small wooden table in the police station, listening to his story in detail. Nearby, the three other wolves that had come with Jordan sat on the floor, conversing softly. Maia's face was filled with disbelief and bewilderment.

"The Praetor is working with Sebastian?" she finally mustered up the voice to say.

Jordan nodded. "He's building an army. First the faeries, now werewolves. And you know he has to have warlocks on his side, probably vampires too."

"But why would they join him at all? He's going to destroy the world!"

"Apparently they hate the Shadowhunter that much. They'll do anything to see them wiped off the face of the Earth, even if it means wiping _the face of the Earth_ off the face of the Earth.

Maia inclined her head towards the boys sitting a little ways away from them. "So these are the guys that left with you?"

"Yeah. That's why I need to talk to Luke."

Maia shook her head. "I don't understand."

"I promised these guys that they could be part of a family, a pack that cares them. Luke has to let us into your pack."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Maia replied carefully.

Jordan was taken about. "What?"

"A pack can't survive with two alphas, Jordan."

"What are you—" Jordan interrupted his own thought, realizing with surprise what it was Maia was suggesting. "Maia, I am not an alpha. I can't be."

"Look at the way those boys follow you. They left all they know because they believe in you. If they were to join Luke's pack, they' trust your decisions before they'd trust his. To them, you're their leader."

"So. . . what? I just tell them that I was wrong? That we're still rogue? That the Shadowhunters we were trying to protect will be trying to kill us soon enough?"

Maia rolled her eyes at Jordan's paranoia. "Of course not. Look, you're an alpha with wolves that follow you. That makes you your own pack."

Jordan considered this for a moment. "I can't lead these people."

Maia reached a hand over the table and grasped Jordan's hand. "You already are. They're already following you. Now all you need to do is step up to the plate."

"I don't know if I can I don't know if I'm ready for something like that."

Maia's hand moved up from Jordan's hand to cup his face. She stroked her thumb gently over his cheek, rosy from the cold, dry wind outside, and leaned forward. " _I_ know you can. I believe in you. You can do this."

Jordan turned to glimpse the three boys; Cale was obviously telling them something he thought was amazing—he always seemed to be telling some amazing story—while the others listened in, nodding their heads, pretending to listen to every word as intently as the last. Hayden must have sensed Jordan's gaze, because he raised his head to meet Jordan's eyes only a moment later. Cale, noting his distraction, stopped talking and looked up too, followed suit by Michael.

"Jordan?" Cale asked anxiously. "Is everything okay?"

Jordan smiled reassuringly, nodding at him, Michael and Hayden, the latter two of whom had begun to take a defensive look on their faces and in their postures. Slowly, they relaxed, and Jordan realized that Maia had been right—the others had sensed danger from him, their leader, and had been ready to act to protect him. It had only been _his_ words that had stopped them. That kind of response didn't come to a fellow pack member, Jordan knew. It was the reaction Scott had gotten from people like Xavier and that Luke had gotten from people like Maia—pack members following their pack leader. Their alpha.

Jordan's phone rang in his pocket and he took it out, staring at the text message on the screen. Maia's went off a split second later, and she, too, read the text message that had been sent to most of the Institute and its companions.

"Jordan?" asked Cale again. Jordan looked up to see that Cale and the other two boys had stood up—they looked like they were ready for anything, any kind of battle Jordan would send them into.

"Everything's fine, guys," he replied reassuringly. "Relax." The other wolves didn't move. Jordan turned back to Maia.

"Simon wants everyone to meet at the Institute. It seems really important."

"Maia," Jordan said. "What about them?" He jerked his head in the direction of the other werewolves.

"Bring them, too. Something tells me we're going to need all the help we can get."

"No," Jordan remarked firmly. "I promised them that, in taking them from the Praetor, I would make sure they didn't have to fight in a war they didn't want to fight in, a war they don't belong in."

"We all belong in this war, Jordan. It's a war for the future of all races. Shadowhunters, Downworlders, mundanes. We're fighting for our lives, for everyone's lives. They may not want to fight without knowing what they are getting involved in. But they should at least know what it is we're fighting for. They should at least know about the fight that's going to happen and make their own decisions about whether or not they want to be soldiers."

Jordan cast one last glance over his shoulder at the former Praetorian werewolves. His new pack. He'd have to make a decision now, and they would follow him. He'd never made such a hard decision before. "Okay," he finally said to them. "We're going on one more roadtrip, guys."

"Cool!" Cale said.

"Where are we going?" Michael asked suspiciously.

"I bet you never thought you'd get to see the inside of the Institute. Of any Institute, right?" The boys didn't answer, but their expressions confirmed his comment. "Well, we're breaking all the other rules today. What's one more before the sun goes down?"

 

 _"What_?" Jace exclaimed. Simon had called everyone he could think of to the Institute after his encounter with Maureen. By the time he had returned, several of his friends were already in the Institute library waiting for him. In fact, the only people that hadn't yet arrived were Jordan, Maia, and Magnus. As Jace had—rather persistently—insisted, Simon went ahead and recounted the day's events, careful to leave out the part about him being with Isabelle before he met with Maureen.

"Where is Rebecca now?" Isabelle asked, always concerned first with Simon and his family, then with the homicidal maniacs trying to destroy the world secondly.

"I took her to the apartment to rest. Eric has specific instructions to call me if anything happens and not to leave her alone under any circumstances."

"So you're going to keep him as a subjugate?"

"I have to. At least until I find a way to fix him."

"Simon—"

"No, I know, there's no way right now to fix him. Maureen told me. But we'll find a way. I mean, I'm sure there's something we could try."

"Actually, there is," said Maryse, speaking for the first time since Simon had arrived back at the Institute. "It's tricky and it will be very unpleasant for Eric, but there _is_ a way to turn Eric back from a darkling."

"But Maureen said it was impossible."

"Maureen was misinformed."

"This is fascinating and all," Jace interrupted sardonically, "but I'm more worried about the fact that Sebastian is turning vampires to his side."

"It's not just the vampires," said a voice in the doorway, and everyone looked up to see Jordan, Maia, and Magnus standing there, as well as three other people that Simon didn't recognize. One of them was really young, about the age Max had been if Simon had to guess. Next to him stood a taller boys, lean, with the same eyes and dark hair as the younger boy. Siblings, Simon thought. Then, standing next to that boy was another one, this guy more muscular with sandy brown hair that looked like he'd have rather been anywhere but here. The voice that had spoken had belonged to Jordan.

"What do you mean, Praetor Kyle? And who are these people?" Maryse questioned.

Jordan pointed to each boy in turn, introducing them. "This is Cale, his brother Michael, and Hayden Scott." Several eyebrows, including Simon's, shot up at the mention of Hayden's last name. "They're former Praetor. I mean, _we_ ," Jordan corrected immediately. " _We're_ former Praetor. And this is my. . .my pack." He finished nervously, choking on the work "pack."

"I'm sorry. Your _what_?" Like asked, completely stupefied.

"This is my pack," Jordan repeated, stronger this time. "We left the Praetor together. We're here to help as much as we can. But, I'm still not sure if we're fighting with you."

Jace began to protest in outrage, but Luke held up a hand to stall him, nodding empathetically at Jordan. "Okay. I can understand that. You don't want to risk their lives without knowing what you're getting yourselves into. You're already thinking like an alpha. That's good." He stepped over to Jordan and clapped a hand onto his shoulder.

"You said that it wasn't just the vampires that Sebastian was targeting?" Alec inquired. "What did you mean?"

Jordan glanced at Maia standing next to him. She gave him an encouraging smile and he turned his gaze back to the others, standing around the Institute library.

"He got to the Praetor, too. That's where I went earlier to get help. I thought maybe they'd help you all out. But it turns out Scott already chose sides. He thinks Sebastian is some kind of savior, sent to save them from the oppression of the Shadowhunters. That's why I left, why _we_ left."

"I want to help, Jordan," Cale said timidly; considering the conversation he was in and the people he was speaking with, Jordan could understand his nervousness. "The Shadowhunters can't be all that bad."

"Smart kid," Jace remarked.

"Stop it, Jace," Jordan said, more savagery invading his voice that Simon had ever heard before. :Not all of us were raised to fight in battles as soon as we could walk." Jordan kneeled down next to Cale and whispered something to him. The two continued in hushed tones, and Simon knew he probably could have heard what they were saying if he wanted, but he didn't want to eavesdrop. Besides, Magnus had now taken the spotlight and had begun speaking.

"It's not just the wolves, either. I've had a few friends—people I've known for centuries—say the same thing." Magnus seemed almost sad. Then again, who wouldn't be? Friends he'd known longer than the United States had even been a country were choosing a side he couldn't. "They all say that they've been patient long enough for Shadowhunters to change. They're ready to step up and force their hand now. With Sebastian's help."

"So Sebastian is gathering the forces of vampires, werewolves, and warlocks worldwide to fight with him?" Alec replied uneasily.

"And the faeries," Jace added. "Don't forget the Seelie Court." Simon and Isabelle shared a knowing glance. _Yeah_ , Simon thought to himself. _Including Meliorn, who Clary was playing nice with earlier according to Iz. . ._

"Do you think he's using mind control somehow, like how he can control the Dark Shadowhunters?" Maia suggested. "Or maybe he's threatening them, blackmailing them into doing it. I mean, Downworlders can't really hate the Shadowhunters that much, can they?"

"I wouldn't be so sure," Luke answered. "We may have the accords and seats on the council, but the Downworlders are happy to look for any excuse to turn against the Shadowhunters. Especially after what happened with Valentine and the Circle. . ." Luke stopped, guilt plastering his tired features.

"But Sebastian is Valentine's son," Isabelle countered. "Why would they join with him of all people?"

Because of what he's offering. Valentine would have never let a Downworlder help him." Scorn was thick in Luke's voice. "And after what Sebastian pulled at the Seventh Sacred Site? That story is all over Downworld. It's finally become crystal clear to them that he isn't anything like his father."

"He's a thousand times worse," Jocelyn breahed her eyes distant. Luke rubbed a hand up and down her back comfortingly. Poor Mrs. Fray, thought Simon. She still blamed herself for Sebastian's existence.

"So what do we do now?" Jordan asked, finally returning to the conversation, He had a reassuring hand on Cale's shoulder. The younger boy looked annoyed, but not, under any circumstances, was he going to disobey his new pack leader. The two had come to an understanding and they both planned on sticking to it.

"We have to contact the Clave, right?" said Alec,  as if worried someone would contradict him. "Tell them about the Downworlders so they can be prepared?"

"What makes you think the Clave hasn't been compromised as well?" said Magnus, as though Alec were a petulant child that hadn't thought before speaking. "Valentine had plenty of loyal followers that are willing to fight with Sebastian. We saw that at the Seventh Sacred Site. The only people we can trust are the ones in this room." Even Simon heard the implied "and even then, it's iffy" in Magnus's tone. Alec shot daggers with his eyes at Magnus, pursing his lips angrily.

"Okay, so we don't tell the Clave," Simon continued the conversation. "Then what _do_ we do?"

"We try to figure out Sebastian's next move before he makes it, and head him off there," Maryse said decisively.

"Jocelyn?" Luke said worriedly and Simon's eyes fell on the two of them. Clary's mother was leaning heavily on Luke.

"You alright, Mrs. Fray?" Simon asked. Concerned looks came from most faces in the room, varying levels of emotion each one. What struck Simon was Clary's look—though it came across as worried, Simon had known Clary long enough to know when she was faking at feeling something. But why was Clary having to pretend to feel worried for her mother?"

"I'm fine," Jocelyn assured everyone, though her voice was soft and mumbled. "I'm just tired, I guess."

"Luke, you should probably take Mom upstairs," Clary suggested. "She looks really sick." Even her voice, Simon realized, was full of that fake unease that baffled Simon infinitely.

Luke nodded, half-supporting, half0carrying Jocelyn out of the room, closing the door behind them.

As Alec, Magnus, and Maryse continued arguing about the next step in the plan, Jace pulled Isabelle aside into a surprisingly heated debate. Simon thought about interrupting to stand up for his girlfriend, but he knew Isabelle could hold her own against Jace and would probably actually be more irritated if he tried to intervene. Besides, Clary had been left alone, watching Jace and Isabelle with a small smirk on her face. One who didn't know Clary as well as he had for as long as he had would never have noticed the infinitesimally raised corner of her mouth, but Simon could. What was going on with her? Now was his chance to ask her. Alone.

Simon strode over to where Clary stood. She barely seemed to notice his arrival. "Clary? Are you alright?"

Clary, surprised at the question, tore her gaze away from Jace and Izzy to look at Simon quizzically. "What do you mean?"

"It's just that thought you'd be a bit more worried about your mom."

"I am worried, Simon," she answered defensively, knitting her eyebrows together. "I'm sure she's going to be fine, though. She's a fighter. Why would you think I don't care about her?"

Beside Simon, Isabelle joined him, slipping her hand through his. Jace joined Clary as well throwing an arm around her shoulder. Well, there went the questioning idea.

"You okay?" Jace asked Clary, apparently noticing the odd look on her face.

Clary snapped out of her staring match with Simon to beam up at Jace. "Fine. I'm fine. You?"

Jace, to Simon's surprise, flushed, his expression turning sheepish. "Yeah." He cleared his throat anxiously. "Isabelle. . . um. . ."

"I told him that you're a responsible, independent girl who can fend for herself," Isabelle said, giving Clary a look, as if challenging her to contradict her.

"Really?" Clary replied, unconvinced. She was scowling at Isabelle, clearly thinking this was a bad joke.

"Really," Jace said. "Iz thinks I've been too clingy lately. As if I have to try to keep my woman interested.

Clary hit Jace's chest playfully. "You might if you keep saying things like that."

 

Clary's phone rang in her pocket. Stepping away, Clary answered it. Isabelle, of course, could only hear one side of the conversation.

"Hello?" Clary answered. "Hey, Luke. Sure I can. Alright. Yeah, give me a few minutes. Okay. Bye." She hung up the phone, rejoining the three of them.

"What's up?" Isabelle asked, aware how intrusive and nosy she sounded.

"Luke just asked me to go get medicine for Mom. He says she's not feeling well."

"I'll go with you," Izzy volunteered.

Clary laughed, her expression surly. "What happened to me being an independent girl that can defend myself?"

"I know, but I just thought—"

"I'll be fine. Thanks for the offer." Isabelle wondered to herself how it was that JAce didn't hear the catty tone in Clary's voice.

"Are you sure, Clary?" Jace said uneasily. "I mean—"

"Don't worry. I'm not going unprepared." Clary smiled and unzipped her jacked, pulling it aside to reveal the weapons belt she was wearing. "A seraph blade, two daggers, and the _kindjal_. I'm all set."

"Whoa," said Simon, unnerved. " Do you just wear those all the time now, Clary?"

"Of course now. When you called, Jace and I were in the training room. I just didn't take the belt off when I came down to the library."

Jace took Clary shoulders and turned her to face him, placing a finger under her chin to bring her face closer to his. "Are you sure you want to go alone?"

"I'll be fine." Clary stood on her tip toes and kissed Jace briefly. "I'll be back before you know it." Clary smiled once more at them before breaking away and heading for the door.

Isabelle had to make a decision. She and Magnus were still the only ones that really knew about Clary. She knew that she would have to find evidence before anyone else would believe her. What if Clary was meeting someone? Had that really been Luke on the phone?

Isabelle hurried through the library doors after Clary, who had already turned the corner, walked down the hallway and was now standing by the elevator, waiting for the groaning machines to rise to their floor. "Clary!" she called when she came into sight. Clary turned to look at her, a puzzled expression on her face.

A thought ran through Isabelle's mind. What if she was wrong about Clary? What if she'd totally messed up big time being caught up in this conspiracy theory?

Clary continued to stare at Isabelle. "Iz?" she asked finally. "Is everything alright?"

Isabelle bit her tongue, shaking her head mutely. The elevator arrived and Clary eyed Isabelle for another moment before she shrugged, pulling the metal gate open and stepping into the elevator As Clary disappeared, Isabelle scolded herself for allowing herself to think that her friend was evil.

A few minutes later, a voice addressed her. "Hey, Isabelle?" Isabelle turned to see Luke standing before her.

"Yeah?"

"Do you know where Clary went?" Isabelle's entire body froze. "I checked the library, but she's not there and she's not answering my calls."

"What do you mean? Didn't you just talk to her?"

"No. Clary hasn't spoken to me all day. Why do you ask?"

Isabelle's head was spinning, almost as if she could feel the Earth spinning at a thousand miles an hour around her. "No reason," she said numbly. "I must have just misunderstood her."

"What do you mean?"

"It's nothing," Isabelle said quickly. "She's probably in her bedroom or the training room."

"Okay, thanks." Luke smiled at her before turning to leave.

Isabelle was only a few seconds away from a total breakdown. She prided herself on the fact that she hadn't started hyperventilating yet. Luke hadn't been the one to call Clary. So who had? And where had she gone?

Quickly, Isabelle turned, pressing the button on the elevator over and over until she heard the metal finally screeching to a start on its painstakingly slow ascent.

"Isabelle?" Izzy jumped at the voice. Her mother stood a few feet away, looking at her quizzically. "Where are you going?"

Isabelle fumbled for an explanation. "I. . .um. . ." She shook her head and began again. "Clary left and she forgot something. I was going to see if I could catch up to her."

"Your father will be leaving in a couple of hours, you know."

"Mom, I told you. I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying here with you." Isabelle smiled half-heartedly at her mother.

"I know," Maryse replied, returning her daughter's smile warmly. "I just thought you'd want to say goodbye to him before he leaves."

"I will," Isabelle tapped her fingers against her sides anxiously. "I won't be gone lone. I promise." Thankfully, the elevator finally groaned to a halt and Isabelle stepped inside.

"Isabelle," her mother protested. "Are you sure this can't wait? Won't she be right back?"

"Yeah, but I want to talk to her about something too. Don't worry," Isabelle said, shutting the gate. "Ten minutes, then I'll be back. Just ten minutes, I promise. Then I'll be back."

"Alright," Maryse conceded reluctantly. "Isabelle. . ."

"What's wrong, Mom?"

"Nothing. Just. . . Thank you for staying in New York with me. I love you. So much. I know I don't say it enough, but I do love you. You know that, right?"

"Of course," Isabelle replied pressing the button for the ground floor. "I love you too, Mom."


	12. Chapter 9: Simon's Sacrifice

Clary stepped out of the Institute, looking up and down the street before she began walking. The sun had already slipped mostly past the horizon, even though it was only just after seven. Normally, she would have felt cold in the early evening chill with only her leather jacket covering her thin tank top, but lately she had lost her sensitivity to things like being cold.

She walked briskly, almost jogging, trying to put as much distance between her and the Institute as she possibly could. She kept constant watch over her shoulder to make sure there was no one following her, but the dense crowd of holiday visitors to the city crowded the street, too thick to pick out any familiar faces.

Clary, feeling claustrophobic, turned a corner, hoping that cutting through the alley would get her away from the suffocating mundanes on the street. Clary's phone rang again in her pocket. She pulled it out; the caller ID said that the number was blocked, but Clary knew exactly who was calling. She rolled her eyes and muttered to herself. "I told you to give me a few minutes, jerk." She hit ignore and place her phone back in her jacket pocket.

"Now that's just rude." Clary's head snapped up at the unexpected voice, her hand flying to the hilt of one of the daggers in her weapons belt out of instinct. "I mean, it's one thing to miss a call by accident, but to just ignore it? That's just spiteful." Jonathan Morgenstern stepped out of the shadows, his usual smirk plastered on his face.

"Well maybe if you weren't such an overbearing as—"

Jonathan reached out, bragging Clary's arms and pulling her close, his breath tickling her face. She gasped, interrupting her own sentence. "Hey, now. Watch that dirty mouth of yours."

Clary looked up at her brother through her eyelashes. "I thought you did that for me."

He grinned wickedly, bending down and preparing to land a kiss on Clary's lips. When he was only about a hairsbreadth away, though, Clary placed a hand on his chest, effectively stopping his advances. "What are you doing here?" she whispered. Jonathan sighed and released her.

"Aren't you glad to see me, little sister?"

"I'm supposed to be meeting one of your cronies. It's too dangerous for you to be here right now. Someone could see you. We're too close to the Institute and literally every Shadowhunter in existence is trying to kill you."

"I agree, we are too close. I was planning to follow you for a few more blocks. But then you turned down this alley and I jumped at the opportunity. Oh, and by the way, 'cronies'?" Jonathan laughed heartily at her. "Are we in some mob movie? I prefer something more evil orientated. Ooh, like 'minions.'"

"This isn't a joke, Jonathan."

Her brother's grin widened. "Aw. Little sister is worried about me?"

"Of course I am, idiot. You're my brother."

"Come on, Clary. You can't tell me you aren't happy to see me. I missed you."

"Yeah, right," Clary muttered, unable to keep a smile from creeping onto her face. "You're here because you think I can't do what you told me to do."

"Okay, fine," he admitted plainly. "Maybe I just wanted to check up on you." Clary hissed as Sebastian's hands ran over her neck and, with it, the burns Jace's lips had left behind earlier. Jonathan frowned. "What's this?"

"Long story short, Jace is really, _really_ hot," Clary joked. Jonathan didn't look amused. "He kissed me earlier," she elaborated. "He still doesn't quite have that little problem of his under control. It's nothing."

Jonathan's frown morphed into a scowl. "I'll kill him. Slowly."

"Relax, will you?" Clary pulled Jonathan even closer. "I only have eyes for you."

"I'm not kidding. He's going to die soon. You don't have to worry about him hurting you ever again."

Clary giggled. "Now who's worried about who?"

Jonathan snaked a hand around Clary's waist, pulling her body tight against his. "You caught me." With his other hand, he titled Clary's head up toward his. "You're my weakness, Clary," he whispered against her lips, drawing her into a deep, long kiss.

 

Stepping through the library's doors, Simon answered his phone on the fifth ring. "Hello?"

"Simon?" said Eric's uncertain voice. "You said you wanted to know if anything happened?"

"Of course. What's going on?"

"Rebecca's awake. And she's really angry."

"I figured she would be after I left."

"She wants to talk to you. Should I put her on the phone?"

"Hold on a second. That can wait. I wanted to tell you what I just found out. According to the lightwoods, there's a way to turn you back to the way you were. Human, I mean. Now, from what Jace tells me, it's really complicated, but—"

"Turn me back?" Eric replied confusedly. "Why in the world would I want that?"

Simon was taken aback. "What are you talking about? Don't you want to be normal again? Don't you want to be human?"

"Not really," said Eric uneasily. "Look, Simon, I want this. I've wanted this since I found out about you. There's finally something different about me. I have the chance to live forever here, Simon."

"Immortality is not all it's cracked up to be. Trust me."

"Your sister wants to talk to you," Eric said abruptly. "I'm putting her on."

"Wait, Eric—"

"Simon?" said Rebecca. Simon sighed. _I guess I'll have to wait for another time to have that conversation._

"Hi, Becks."

"You left me alone with your freak of a friend after what happened earlier?" Simon's sister demanded. "What were you thinking? And where are you?"

"I had to head out for a little while. I'll be back soon, I promise."

"This is all so crazy, Simon." Rebecca sounded tired, both physically and emotionally.

"I know, Becky," he answered consolingly. "I know this is crazy and scary and hard to understand. But I swear I will keep you safe."

There was a long stretch of silence before Rebecca answered. "How?"

"I don't know yet. But I swear, I will find a way to keep both you and Mom safe."

Rebecca scoffed, and it sounded like she was unsuccessfully trying to hold back tears. "You can't promise that."

"Becky. . ."  He sighed, drawing a hand across his face. "Do you trust me?"

"I don't know, Simon," she admitted.

"That's the first step, then. The sooner you start trusting me again, the sooner we can work this out."

Another pause, then: "Okay. What do I need to do?"

Simon's tense shoulders slumped in relief. "Right now, just stay at the apartment. And don't contact anyone besides me. Okay?"

"Okay. I. . . I trust you, Simon," she managed to say.

"Good."

"But Simon. . ." Rebecca began. She took in a deep breath and continued. "What about Mom? You can't keep us both safe. Not forever."

"I know." Suddenly, an idea flew into his head. It was totally crazy and dangerous though. But it would be a way to keep the people he loved safe while he was off fighting evil itself. It was insane, but was willing to risk it. He knew exactly what to do. "Just keep trusting me, Becky. Can you put Eric back on please?"

"He said he didn't want to talk to you anymore."

"Just give him the phone. Please."

There was a moment of silence as the phone exchanged hands. Simon's thoughts were running rampant. Everything was perfect for what he was planning. All he needed was for Eric to agree and he could keep his family safe for the rest of their lives.

"What?" Eric snapped, returning to the phone.

"Eric," Simon answered coolly. "Are you serious about wanting to be a vampire? You're sure about it?"

"Of course," Eric said suspiciously. "Why?"

"I have an offer for you."

 

Isabelle pushed open the front doors of the Institute, the freezing air biting at her exposed ears and nose. She looked both ways several times, worry that she's already lost Clary in the holiday crowds nearly overtaking her. Then, finally, Isabelle caught a glimpse of Clary's fiery red hair as she split off the main sidewalk into an alley.

Isabelle set off, a strong glamour making it easier to maneuver the crowd without being noticed and causing a scene. In seconds, she was approaching the alley from only a few feet away. She slowed, hearing unmistakable voices. Unmistakable and yet impossible. Isabelle pressed herself up against the wall that formed the corner Clary had turned down. Slowly and stealthily, Isabelle peered around the wall, careful not to be seen. Though, if there was something that shouldn't have been seen, it was what Isabelle witnessed just then.

Clary was there, alright. And her brother was, too, all over her. They weren't just kissing—they were in a full-on, almost above PG-13 make out session. Clary's hands were clenched in her brother's hair, Sebastian's hands running greedily—and, Isabelle thought, disgustingly—all over Clary's body.

Isabelle pulled away, hiding behind the wall once more. "Oh. My. God," she whispered to herself. _Come on, Isabelle_ , she thought. _You have to get it together. Calm down. No one's going to believe you if you don't prove it._ Isabelle's heart was racing. This was it. This was the proof she needed.

"So," Isabelle heard Sebastian ask. Apparently, the two of them had decided that air was still essential, even to demonic creeps. "What did our friend Meliorn have to say?"

"We have the Seelie Court's full support and cooperation. Though there wasn't a lot of convincing needed in that department. The Queen jumped at the opportunity to turn on the Shadowhunters."

"Yeah. She did the last time as well."

Isabelle couldn't believe what she was hearing. She'd had her suspicions about Clary, but actually hearing the proof of it was a whole other world of scary. And she knew nobody was going to believe her without proof. Pulling out her cell phone, Isabelle opened the camera application, wanting to record a short video to show the others. Taking a steadying breath, Isabelle leaned back around the corner, trying to get a good angle with her phone without exposing herself entirely. The shot she was getting, however, was not nearly good enough—a dumpster blocked the camera's view of Sebastian entirely.

Making a quick decision, and knowing that Clary and her brother were each sufficiently distracted with each other, Isabelle stepped out further to try to improve her angle. This wasn't working—she needed a wider angle. Isabelle took a tentative step back—

—and felt a body crashing into hers, sending her flying to the ground hard "Hey! Watch it!" the mundane woman exclaimed without even seeing who she'd run into. Isabelle froze, staring up at Clary and Sebastian, both of whom were now looking down at her, Clary shocked and Sebastian disapproving. She jumped to her feet defensively.

"Isabelle? What the Hell are you doing here?" Clary's voice was reproachful.

"I could ask you the same thing," Isabelle replied, her voice stronger than she felt.

Clary fumbled for words. "I. . . Sebastian asked me to come here. He was threatening my Mom, Isabelle." Clary pleaded with Isabelle to understand, but Isabelle saw straight through the act.

"Is that why you were kissing him?"

"I didn't kiss him! _He_ kissed _me_! Come on, Isabelle. You know me."

"No. I _knew_ you, Clary. But, fine," Isabelle said. "Why did he kiss you?" she asked.

Sebastian, who had been silently observing up until now, put a hand on Clary's shoulder, speaking into her ear. "Clary," he said, smirking at Isabelle as he did. "I don't think there's any use. She's far too smart for that. Aren't you, Isabelle?"

Isabelle swallowed hard. "I heard you two talking. I saw you two. . ." She broke off, not able to bring herself to say the words aloud. "You aren't Clary anymore. You've chosen your side in all of this."

"And now it's time to choose your side, Isabelle." It was Sebastian who spoke; Clary stood silently, obediently by his side, staring emptily at Isabelle with those cold, dead eyes.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Of course you do." Sebastian moved away from Clary, stepping around and behind Isabelle, his hand reaching out and tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear. Isabelle fought back revulsion, fighting to keep still in such close proximity to the walking definition of evil. "Come with us now, Isabelle. Come with us and drink from the cup. Become more powerful than you can even imagine. Survive this war."

"Jonathan," Clary remarked, her voice whining. She didn't like not being the object of her brother's attention; she acted like Sebastian was asking Isabelle to replace her, like she herself wasn't enough for him. How ridiculous, Isabelle thought. There was no way in Hell she was going anywhere with Team Evil here.

"Don't worry, Clary. You're still my number one girl. But Isabelle here has the chance to be my number two."

"Funny. Maureen seems to think she's your girlfriend," Isabelle said icily.

"Maureen?" Sebastian asked, honestly surprised. "What does Maureen have to do with anything?"

"It seems your little vampire fling caused a little bit of unwanted attention this afternoon. You know, you should really take care of her. She's a loose end. Dangerous if not attended to."

"As soon as she's done what we need her to do, I'll take care of her. I promise, my lovely." Clary smiled at him unconvincingly. "Now, Isabelle. It's time for you to choose. Who do you stand with? Us or them?"

Isabelle took inhaled deeply to clear her mind of any doubt she'd been feeling, and once more to steady her shaking body. "I stand where I've always stood. I stand with my family."

Sebastian's hands creeped down to Isabelle's arms, holding her in place as he spoke to her. "You know, it may be the demon in me talking, but I was really hoping you'd say that."

 

"Guys?" Simon and Jace turned to see Jordan, who had managed to break away from his pack for a few minutes. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Sure," Simon answered, shrugging.

"What's up wolf?" Jace said snarkily.

Jordan ignored the quip. "I wanted to tell you guys about something. When I was gone the other day, I was with Scott. He'd called and asked me to meet him away from the Praetor House."

"What about?"

"He. . ." Jordan cleared his throat. "He asked me to spy on you guys. The Institute, its allies. He wanted me to find something that he could turn over to the Clave. he wants to get you all out of the way."

"Must be Sebastian's idea. We know more about him than probably anyone else." Simon seemed to glide over the problem Jordan had been insinuating. Jace, however, was not quite as thick as the Daylighter.

"What did you tell him?"

Simon seemed dumbfounded at the question. "What are you getting at, Jace?"

Jace never took his eyes off Jordan who stared back nervously but strongly. "Jordan?"

Simon flicked his eyes back and forth between the two other boys. "What the Hell? Jordan?"

"Yes," Jordan replied simply, all emotion hidden from his voice.

"Yes what?" Jace coaxed.

"Yes. That's what I told him. Yes."

"Jordan—" Simon started, betrayed.

"But I changed my mind! I realized how stupid I'd been and I told him the deal was off. That's when I found out about Sebastian and I left."

"What did you tell him?" replied Jace accusingly.

"Nothing!"

"You waited two days before you left. What did you tell him about us?"

"I swear, I didn't tell him anything that he didn't already know. I just stood up for your guys. " Jace looked at him skeptically. "Jace, I'm serious."

Jace's phone vibrated on Hodge's desk nearby. Jordan stopped, looking grateful that something had interrupter the conversation. Jace picked it up, scowling at Jordan. "We aren't done with this conversation, wolf."

Jordan paled a little, but nodded.

Jace answered his phone finally. "Clary? Where are you? You've been gone for a long time. Did you go to the Bronx to get medicine or something?"

"The blood." Clary's voice was distant and barely audible. "By the Angel. There's so much _blood_."

Jace's heart seemed to stop. Simon, apparently, noticed the change in his demeanor and asked "Jace? What's wrong? Is Clary alright?"

"I tried to stop him," Clary continued, "but. . . Oh my God, Jace. The blood. . ."

"Clary, I need you to calm down. Please," Jace kept his voice as calm as possible, but, judging by the look everyone else in the room was giving him, he was not very successful at hiding his distress. "Who's blood? Clary, are you hurt?" Simon's eyebrow shot up at the word "blood."

"Not me," Clary sobbed. "Isabelle. Oh my God, Jace, she's really hurt. The blood. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. . ." Clary's voice trailed off into indiscernible mumblings.

"Oh my God," Jace echoed, muttering to himself. "But that can't be right. . ."

"Jace?" It was Maryse. "What's happening?"

"Maryse, where's Iz?"

"She went to catch up to Clary. Why?"

Jace shook his head and spoke back into the phone. "Clary, I need you to tell me where you are."

"Blood, blood, blood. . ."

"Clary! I know you're scared, but we need find you two. We need to help Isabelle. _Where are you_?"

"Turn right. Turn right," Clary mused. Her voice sounded almost childlike. She was going into shock, Jace realized.

"Turn right? What does that mean?"

"Turn right and turn right. Right, right. Two right. Find me. Find us. The blood. There's so much blood. . ." Clary became incoherent and Jace felt his face turn stony.

"I'll be there soon. Just hang on, Clary. I'll be right there."

 

 _Turn right and turn right_ , Clary had said. What had she even meant? Alec's stomach lurched at the thought of Isabelle hurt, out of his reach. What had happened? Was she okay? Jace had tried to stay on the phone with Clary the whole time, but his phone quickly died. In anger, Jace threw the phone against the stacks of books, shattering it to pieces.

"They're directions," Jace reasoned, finally calming down slightly, his skin glowing dimly.. "But from where? Where did she go?"

"What's going on?" Luke's voice came across the library. "Is everything alright?" Quickly, Jace recounted Clary's phone call as closely and accurately as possible. Luke shook his head. "Why did Clary go off by herself? I mean, _when_? Isabelle didn't mention anything to me when I spoke to her earlier. She actually told me that Clary was still here in the Institute, in her bedroom."

"After you called, she left—"

"After I called? Jace, I never called Clary. I mean, I did, but she never answered."

The blood drained out of Alec's face as soon as the words had left Luke's mouth. "If you didn't call her," he said, knowing the question had to be asked, but dreading asking it, "who did? And where did Clary lie?"

"The directions," Jace said suddenly. "They aren't from the store she went to or anything like that. They're from here, from the Institute. She can't be that far away. She took a right from the Institute, then turned right again somewhere along the street."

"But where?" Alec replied. "There's a thousand different turns she could have made. Alleys, stores, other streets."

"Then we'll look down each one until we find them."

 

"Clary!" Jace called, looking around corner, down alley after alley. "Clary, where are you?"

Alec followed close behind, calling his sister's name as Jace called Clary's, glad that their glamours prevented unnecessary mundane attention.

"Jace?" came a quiet voice, one Alec couldn't determine a source for. "Jace!" the voice came, louder this time, and Alec recognized it as Clary's. They both doubled their speed, racing toward the sound. Like a nightmare, they seemed to move excruciatingly slow. Finally, Jace in the lead and Alec following on his heels, the two of them rounded the corner—

—and Alec froze in his tracks. On the pavement, Clary sat, her legs bent awkwardly beneath her. Her skin was dotted all over with blood and bruises, shallow scratches and deep cuts. In her lap lay Isabelle, her black hair plastered to her unnaturally pale face with blood, which pooled around the pair of girls. Isabelle's eyes were closed, her body unnervingly still. Clary's head snapped up, a knife in her hand instantly, pointing at the two of them. Clary snarled, laying herself over Isabelle's body. "Stay away from her!"

Jace held out his hands cautiously. "Clary," he said slowly. "It's okay. You can let go now." Clary shook her head violently. "Clary, it's okay. We're here now. Let us help her." Clary's other hand was splayed on Isabelle's stomach, where a long slash was cut into her shirt. Slowly and hesitantly, Clary leaned back away from Isabelle's limp body, crawling backwards to lean against the brick alley wall. She rocked her body back and forth, staring down at her bloody hands.

Jace fell to his knees by Isabelle. "Iz?" he said gently, shaking her arm. There was no response. Alec wanted to fall down beside Jace, beside his sister, and help her, but he couldn't move. His feet seemed to be rooted deep, through the pavement and into the ground below. "Isabelle, can you hear me?" Jace continued. "We're here, Iz. You're okay. You're going to be okay."

"How is she?" Alec asked, his mouth dry.

"She's cold as ice. She's lost a lot of blood." Jace put his ear against Isabelle's chest, listening. "Name of the Angel. . ."

"Jace? Jace, what's wrong?"

Jace didn't answer. He put two fingers to the skin over Isabelle's jugular. "No. _No._ Not like this, Isabelle. I am not losing you like this. _Damn it!_ " Jace pulled out his stele and marked an _iratze_ onto Isabelle's skin. The rune faded almost immediately with no effect. Reluctantly, Jace pulled the scraps of fabric away from the huge gash on Izzy stomach, drawing another rune on the torn skin there. Like before, the rune faded with absolutely no results.

"Jace! What the Hell is going on? Is she okay?"

"I. . ." Jace, for once in his life, seemed at a loss for words. "I can't find a. . . a pulse."

"What?!" This was what Alec finally needed to lose his stupor. Jace rocked back onto his heels, completely stupefied, and Alec fell to his baby sister's side.

Years ago, before Jace had even come to the Institute, Alec and Isabelle had learned how to perform CPR. Isabelle's hair had been pulled into two braids, she had on a ridiculous amount of makeup, especially for a little girl her age, and she ignored the entire lesson, claiming that she'd never have to use something so impractical. She'd complained that she wanted to learn more physical defense and offense skills, weapons of all sorts. Alec, wanting to act like the superior sibling he was, paid special attention and often joked that something as "mundane" as CPR would eventually save someone's life, while, in reality, he hoped he would never have to use it. Now, struggling to remember, Alec made a fist with one hand and slid the other hand over it, beginning chest compressions. Behind him, Alec heard voices approaching, familiar voices, but his mind wasn't working enough to fully process what was happening around him.

"Jace! Oh my God, Isabelle! What happened?" The voice belonged to Simon.

"I. . . I don't know. The runes aren't working."

"What does that mean?" There was a moment of silence and Alec could imagine Jace saying nothing, only looking at Simon with eyes that conveyed more meaning than words ever could. "No. Oh my God, no."

"How did you find us?" Jace asked distantly.

"I heard Alec screaming Isabelle's name. I can't believe this. What happened?"

 _I heard Alec screaming Isabelle's name_. When had he screamed? How had he not realized?

"Where's Clary?" Simon demanded nervously. "What about Clary?" Jace didn't speak, but, a moment later, Simon rushed to Clary's side all the same. "Clary? Clary are you alright? What happened?"

"Alec." The voice didn't belong to Simon or Jace or Clary. It belonged to Magnus. Alec felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, which he shook off instantly. "Alexander, please," Magnus pleaded softly, pulling Alec back from his sister's body. "Alec. Alec! She's gone. Come on. She's gone."

Alec's face was stained with tears, his hands soaked in his sister's blood. He slumped against Magnus' chest and Mangus held him tight, partially to comfort him, but mostly to keep him from running off and hurting someone or, worse, himself. Magnus ran a hand along Alec's shoulder as he sobbed, completely throwing away inhibitions at the death of his little sister. "How could this happen, Magnus?" he whispered.

"I don't know, Alexander. But we'll find out. I promise."

 

Simon sat down on the infirmary bed next to Clary, handing her a mug. "Thanks," she said emptily, clutching to the warmth of the cup. "I can't believe you made tea."

"Tea is the Band-Aid of the human soul," Clary smiled weakly, her lips quivering as tears fell down her face. Simon put a hand over Clary's. "I don't know. I wanted to stay. . ." He cleared his throat, wiping a bloody tear from his eye before Clary could see. "I wanted to stay with her while they were waiting for the others but I just. . . The blood. There was so much and I couldn't. . ."

Clary grasped Simon's hand back. "I know. It's okay."

"What happened, Clary?" he asked, not for the first time. He knew she was getting tired of hearing the question, but he had to know. It was killing him inside. He still couldn't comprehend the fact that he would never see Isabelle again. He would never un his hands through her hair again or touch her soft skin again or kiss her lips again. They would never share another passionate night or stolen moments here and there. He would never smell her sweet perfume or see her beautiful smile, never look into her gorgeous eyes again. They would never share another passionate night or stolen moments here and there. She was gone forever.

Maryse and Robert had shown up only moments after Simon and Magnus. It was the first time Simon ever saw Maryse lose control entirely. The poor woman's family had been cut in half in a matter of months. Not only that, she had outlived her two youngest children, and he knew that was destroying her completely. Robert hadn't cried or shown any emotion besides anger. He'd glared at Simon, as if blaming him, as if it were his fault his daughter had died.

Clary let go of Simon's hand, bringing her tea to her lips tentatively.

"Clary, please. Talk to me."

"My tea is getting cold," Clary replied evasively. "I'm going to go to the kitchen and warm it up." Clary hid her gaze from Simon as she rose up from the infirmary bed, rushing toward the door.

"Wait, Clary," Simon begged. Clary stopped in the doorway, putting a hand on the door frame, still not turning to look at her friend. "I know it's hard for you to talk about this and I know you think it's your fault—"

"No, I don't," Clary said indignantly, spinning around to glare at Simon; she looked unstable. Then again, who could blame her if she was? "That's a terrible and horrible thing to say. I _tried_ to save her. I _tried_ to help her. I stayed with her the whole time." Another tear fell past Clary's eyelid and she wiped it away hastily. "She should never have been there anyway. Stupid. . ." Clary's voice cracked and she covered her face with her free hand. Simon's heart almost broke all over again. Gingerly, he stepped over to Clary, taking the tea cup out of her hand and setting it down on the table beside the door before carefully leading Clary back to the bed, making sure not to touch her injured arms. Clary, too, had been injured in whatever attack the girls had been involved in; she had pretty deep cuts on her arms and what looked like fingernail scratches on her face, neck, and upper arms. She had two cracked ribs and so many bruises, it was hard to find a clear spot of skin bigger than the size of a quarter. Still, Clary had adamantly refused any _iratzes_ , stating that Isabelle had been the one that had really gotten hurt and that she could handle a few scrapes and bruises. "She wasn't supposed to be there, Simon. It was supposed to be me that died. Why did she follow me?"

"Because she knew you'd lied. Why did you? Why did you lie about where you were going?"

"He told me not to tell anyone."

"Sebastian?" Simon guessed aloud. Clary nodded, sniffling.

"He told me that he knew what was wrong with Mom. He said that, if I told anyone he'd know and he wouldn't tell me how to help her. So I lied. He told me to meet him in the alley to talk."

"He came that close to the Institute and risked being caught just to talk?"

Clary shrugged. "He tried to get me to join him again. He. . . he kissed me. It was horrible. That's when Isabelle found me." Clary's voice betrayed her and new tears fell down her face. "She tried to keep him away from me. I managed to pull out a seraph blade and I actually got in a few good blows on him. We almost had him. But then he threw me up against the wall and I hit my head. It didn't knock me out, but it definitely dazed me.

"I don't really know what happened after that. They fought for a little while, but then it was quiet. Almost peaceful. And when I came to, Isabelle was on the ground. She was so pale and there was so much blood." Clary's whole body was trembling; Simon pulled her gently against his chest.

"What about Sebastian?"

"I don't know what happened to him. He wasn't there when I found Izzy."

"So how did you get hurt? I mean, if you weren't fighting with Isabelle—"

"I fought some before he shoved me. That's when my ribs got cracked and when I got most of these sword gashes. And the scratches. . . Well, I didn't just let him kiss me, you know. And my brother isn't exactly a gentle guy, especially when he doesn't get what he wants."

"I know," he responded consolingly. "I don't mean to upset you."

"You aren't upsetting me. I get it. She was your girlfriend. You want to know what happened to her. I wish I could be of more help."

"It's alright, Clary. You've been through so much, it's nice to know you haven't gone mute. I already lost Isabelle. I'm glad I didn't lose you too."

"It should have been me. I didn't know he was going to hurt her. She shouldn't have even been there. Jonathan was after me and only me."

"Isabelle was worried about you. She saved your life."

"She shouldn't have! Jonathan never would have hurt me. Not badly, anyway. He certainly wouldn't have killed me. Izzy should have known that!"

"Clary," Simon reasoned, "he would have taken you back. He wasn't going to let you escape a second time. he would have knocked you out and made you drink from the cup while you were unconscious or something. And then what? You'd be his evil minion, doing whatever he wanted you to do. Who's to say he wouldn't have had you kill Isabelle yourself?"

Clary's face instantly blanched and Simon regretted what he'd said. But that wasn't the only thing he noticed. For a moment, Simon had looked directly into her eyes and the look she gave him in that moment sent chills down his spine. Those dark, dead eyes. Just like Izzy had mentioned. . . He shook the thought out of his head as Clary spoke. "What's your point, Simon?" she snapped harshly.

Simon sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he stood up from the bed, making his way toward the door. His mind wasn't running on all cylinders right now. "I think you should rest some more. I'll go brief the others on what happened."

"Simon," Clary said dangerously. "What did you mean?"

Simon stopped, a hand on the foot of the metal bed, and looked back at Clary. "Just that there are some fates worse than death."

"You'd rather see me dead than see me as a dark Shadowhunter?"

"I didn't say that."

"But would you?" she inquired accusingly.

"Honestly, Clary? I don't know. Either way, the person I've known since the fourth grade wouldn't be here anymore."

"So that's a yes. Tell me, could you kill me if I did turn, Simon? You say that the real me would be dead. But I'd still have my face. Could you bring yourself to do what needs to be done in that kind of situation? Could you really kill me?"

Simon was horrified at the direction this conversation had taken. "Let's just hope I never have to find out, okay?"

"I don't think you have to worry about it anytime soon, to be honest," Clary said bitterly.

"Why not?"

"My brother told me something before Isabelle showed up in the alley. He told me that right then was my last chance to join him. After he hurt Iz, I heard him say that I'd chosen my side and that he couldn't waste any more of his valuable time on me. He's not coming back, Simon. At least not for me. He's given up, moved on. I'm just another Shadowhunter now."

There wasn't another words spoken between the two of them. Clary turned and looked through the dirty pane glass window behind her bed, ignoring Simon completely as he left, a thousand thoughts flying back and forth as if in a hurricane in his head.

 

"Have you heard anything from Jace?" Magnus called to Alec from the kitchen in his apartment.

Alec, sitting on an overstuffed sofa in the living room with his arms pulled tight to his chest, answered numbly." He says that the Brother Zachariah and some other Silent Brothers are meeting with Mom and Dad right now. He doesn't know what's going on yet. He said he'll call when he finds out something."

"Your father is still in town?"

"I know. I was shocked too. But he thought putting off his travel arrangements was justified, given the circumstances. I'm just surprised the Clave agreed."

"But everything's alright over there? I mean, relatively?"

"I guess so."

"See?" said Magnus, returning to the living room, carrying two porcelain teacups. "I told you they had it all under control. It would have done you no good to stay."

"I still wish I was there. I wish I was anywhere, actually. I wish I was doing something to help."

"You are. By staying here, you're staying out of the way, and you're not out getting yourself killed doing something stupid. The last thing your parents need right now is to be worrying about you on top of everything else."

"Tea?" Alec asked unenthusiastically as Magnus handed him one of the teacups. The rim of this one was chipped. Alec had kind of adopted it as his special cup when he'd stayed with Magnus. It was nice to hold something familiar in his hands while everything around him was spiraling out of control. "Unless there's vodka in it, I don't think I'm really up for it."

"Trust me. It'll make you feel better. This is a method that has withstood the test of time. It'll work. I promise." Alec took a tentative sip of the warm, smooth liquid. Instantly, it seemed to heat him up from the inside out. He smiled slightly, and Magnus smiled in return. "See? Told you."

"Why are you so perfect at this kind of thing? You knew the right thing to say when we lost Max and now with Isabelle. . ."

Magnus reached out and took Alec's hand. "We immortals always seem to have a sixth sense of how to comfort people after the loss of loved ones. I guess it's because we've lived long enough to see everyone we ever loved die. Each time you think it's going to be different, that it'll be the one person you'll give up your immortality for, but you can't bring yourself to do it. You're always worried that something will change. But then it doesn't and before you even know it, they leave, taking a little piece of your heart with them. Isabelle and Max were your firsts. I wish I could say it gets easier, but it doesn't. You'd think you'd get used to it, but you never do. Not even when you know what's coming."

"It's not just the deaths though. You always know the right thing to say with any kind of heartbreak. Even when you left me. . ." Alec couldn't meet Magnus's eyes. He looked down at his teacup instead, running a finger around the thin rim thoughtfully. Magnus didn't know how to answer; luckily, Alec continued before he had to generate a response. "Why is this happening to me? What did I do to make the universe so wrathful?" Alec laughed shortly. "Maybe the Angel is punishing me for being--"

"Don't go there, Alec."

"It's hard not to. Everything that's happened with Izzy and Max and you. . . Well, I'm the common denominator, right?"

Magnus tried to ignore that last part. It was hard for him to think about the amount of pain he had put Alec through as being equal to that of the death of his two younger siblings. "This isn't your fault. You heard what Simon said, what happened in the alley. Sebastian killed your sister." Alec bit his lip, casting a nervous  glance at Magnus. "Alexander? What is it?"

"I don't think it was Sebastian," he mumbled. Clearing his throat, he elaborated. "I don't think Sebastian is the one who killed my sister."

Magnus's eyebrows shot up in disbelief and confusion. "Then who?"

Alec closed his eyes and Magnus knew--again, from experience--that he was trying to keep his composure. Without opening his eyes, Alec answered. "Isabelle told me something earlier. She'd gotten suspicious of Clary, just like you, so she followed Clary when she snuck out of the Institute to meet someone alone."

"And?" Magnus asked, intrigued but keeping his face impassive. "Who was she meeting?"

"Meliorn. Isabelle talked to Clary about it, but she said that Clary was evasive and cold and just _mean._ And then, there was her eyes. Just like you said. Cold, dark, dead. I told her she was seeing things, that she was being paranoid and getting drawn in by conspiracy theories. But she was so sure. Just like you were. I should have listened to her, to both of you."

"You really think Clary could have done this?"

"Don't you? You're the one who swore up and down that she was a dark Shadowhunter."

"This isn't about what I think, Alec. What I think doesn't matter here. What do you really believe?"

"I don't believe anything. I _know_ that Clary lied."

"What do you mean?"

"She says she slashed Sebastian with a seraph blade. But, when we found her, she still had the seraph blade she'd left the Institute with strapped to her weapons belt."

"Maybe she was mistaken. Or maybe she meant that Isabelle had used one."

"Isabelle didn't have one. And there's something else. Those marks on Clary's face? I know Sebastian didn't give those to her."

"Okay, Alec, that might be stretching a bit. You can't possibly know that."

"Sebastian sees Clary as piece of property. He'd never mess up her face. But Isabelle, if she was fighting for her life and she knew she was losing, wouldn't go down easily. Scratching at the eyes is a girl thing to do. It's a defensive wound, not an offensive one. Isabelle was defending herself. Against Clary."

Magnus took a moment to consider this before he spoke again. "Alec, if you go down this road. . ."

"There's no going back. I know. But I have to get justice for my sister, no matter how much it hurts me or Jace. Clary's working with Sebastian now," Alec continued definitively. "We have to figure out how get her back soon or--"

"Or we risk her destroying everything," Magnus finished, nodding.

"Exactly."

"So how do we turn her back?"

"I have absolutely no idea. And even if I did, there's the issue of getting Clary away from Jace long enough to do whatever it is that needs to be done."

"That's true. He's basically keeping her under house arrest. I think he's even more paranoid about her than usual. I didn't even think that was possible."

Magnus sighed, running his finger through his unusually unstyled hair. "I've been on this Earth for over 800 years and I've still never seen it in as much danger as it's in right now. This world is going to Hell." A thought occurred to Magnus suddenly. "Hell," he said, his mind elsewhere.

"You know I hate it when you make that face, Magnus," Alec said nervously. "It means you're getting one of your ideas."

Magnus waved away the comment, turning his intense gaze to Alec. "Hell," Magnus repeated pointedly. Slowly, he watched as realization dawned on Alec's face.

"No," Alec said immediately. "You can't--"

"Nothing's changed, Alec. We still need to find Sebastian and stop him. Especially with Clary being one of his evil henchmen. He's more dangerous now than he ever was before."

"Still, Magnus. . ." Alec faltered, unable to finish the thought. He looked away for a moment and inhaled deeply before turning back to Magnus. "You don't have to risk your life."

"I'm not. My father won't hurt me, Alec. And anyway, it's my decision." Alec looked skeptically at him and Magnus threw his hands in the air, laughing harshly. "Why can you never accept that? That's why we broke up in the first place. You kept wanting to make my decisions for me."

"Magnus--"

"Alec, I _want_ to do this. I'm not doing it because I have to."

"You told me earlier at the Institute that you were going to your father to protect me."

"Yes, I am."

"So, you still care about me?"

"I still _love_ you, Alexander."

"Then don't do this."

"Alec--"

"No! I just lost my sister. The people I love keep dropping like flies around me. I can't risk you too."

"So you're going to turn into Jace now? Are you going to keep me locked up in the Institute so nothing can ever touch me?"

Alec ignored this. "If you really still love me, Magnus, _don't do this_."

"Of course I love you Alec!"

"Then prove it! Tell me you won't go to Hell--"

Alec's sentence was cut off by Magnus's lips brushing up against his. Magnus felt Alec gasp, completely caught off guard by such an intimate gesture. Magnus's fingers cupped Alec's face lightly as he pushed his lips harder against Alec's mouth, happily surprised when Alec kissed back automatically. They stayed like this for a moment and, when Magnus pulled away, it was reluctantly.

"I do love you, Alexander Lightwood. I'm not sure I could stop if I wanted to. That's why I'm doing this."

"Not that I'm complaining about your methods or anything," Alec replied shakily, "but you didn't let me finish. If you love me, you have to promise not to go to Hell." Magnus made a sound of  protest, but Alec continued, finishing his earlier interrupted scene. " _Alone_."

Magnus shook his head, sure he'd heard wrong. "What?"

"There's nothing I can do to stop you after you've made a decision. I know that now. But there's also nothing you can do to make me stay here and not go with you."

Magnus shook his head again, more slowly, in shock. "Alec Lightwood. . . Are you ever going to stop surprising me?"

"That depends," Alec replied. "Are you expecting this?" Before Magnus could even consider the question Alec's lips were back on his, harder and more desperate than before.

Against his lips, Magnus reply was mumbled. "No," he breathed. "Definitely didn't see that coming."

 

"Eric, I need to know right now," Simon said carefully. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Simon—" Eric complained.

"I know, you've told me before. I just had to make sure. It's a big decision."

"I know. But this isn't just me and it isn't just you anymore. We're doing this to help your family."

"What?" Rebecca asked—Simon hadn't heard her come in at first. Now, she stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. Simon had hoped to keep her in the dark about this particular part of his plan until later. Now, that plan was looking less and less likely to succeed. "What's he talking about, Simon?"

"I need blood to keep you and Mom safe. Eric wants to be a vampire. It's a win-win situation."

"So you're going to drink from him?"

"Not just drink," Simon explained carefully. "I'm going to drain him of blood entirely."

Rebecca's arms dropped to her side, a horrified look spreading across her face. "You're going to _kill_ him."

"I'm going to _turn_ him. And when I'm done, I'll be strong enough to save you two."

"But you're going to _kill_ him."

"It's how a vampire is made. We have to be bitten, die, and then crawl our way out of our own graves." Rebecca leaned heavily on the doorjamb, her gaze cast down and far away. Simon moved quickly to her side, not wanting to touch her but wanting to hold her close at the same time. "Becky, look at me." His sister reluctantly met his gaze. "You promised me that you would trust me to keep you and Mom safe. Do you still trust me?" Rebecca nodded. "Okay. Then let me do this. Eric is going to be fine. Now I need you to do your part. Get Mom to the restaurant. I'll meet you there and, by then, I'll be ready." Rebecca didn't move. "Rebecca, please."

Rebecca straightened up, a determined look on her face. "Okay. I'll get her there." She cast a sidelong glance at Eric. "Do what you have to do." She brushed past him, grabbing her coat from the hook by the front door, then pausing and turning to look at her brother. "Did all of that happen to you? I mean, did you really _die_?"

Simon smiled back at her. "I'll tell you a story some time. I promise."

Once Rebecca had left, Simon pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through his contacts until he found Jace's number. "She doesn't know, does she?" Eric asked solemnly. "She doesn't know what you're going to do?"

"No. I can't tell her. She'd never help me."

Eric gestured to the phone in Simon's hand as Simon pressed "dial" and put the phone to his ear. "Who are you calling?"

"You'll see."

The phone rang a few times, and Simon thought maybe Jace would just ignore the call. Finally, though, he answered. "Not a good time, Daylighter," he said irritably.

"I need your help."

"You've always needed help, most of which I can't help you with as I am not a trained psychiatrist."

"I need your help burying a body, Jace."

There was a short pause before Jace answered. "Okay, I was joking earlier, but now. . ."

"I'm turning Eric. I need someone to bury him."

"You're _what_?!"

"Call Raphael to help you. Maureen told me he's paranoid and totally freaked out. He even called earlier to see if I would ask you guys to help him. He didn't want to contact to Institute directly, but he knows the Lightwood kids are crazy and love breaking the law."

"There's only one Lightwood kid now, and he isn't really up for helping you or your little friend right now."

"Which is why I called you and not Alec. I know Isabelle's death—"

"Don't talk about her to me. Don't give me your sympathies. I don't want to hear it. You might feel bad and so you _think_ you know how I'm feeling but you're wrong. You lost your girlfriend that you've known for a few months. I lost my sister that I've known for seven years. Your pain doesn't even come close."

"I know," Simon admitted. "And I don't _want_ to feel that pain. I'm doing this to protect _my_ sister, Jace, and my mother. Please. You of all people should understand what I'm trying to do."

The long silence that followed made Simon worry that Jace had hung up on him. Then, after an excruciating few minutes, he finally answered. "What do you need me to do?"

"Meet me at my apartment in half an hour. Once you've got the body, contact Raphael. He'll know what to do from there."

"Aren't you coming too?"

"Wish I could, but I have something to take care of. You guys just make sure Eric is taken care of and doesn't hurt anybody. That first day is a total bitch when you turn."

 

Eric's limp body fell to the floor of the apartment. The fresh, warm blood flowed warm through Simon's veins. The feeling of real, warm, human blood was euphoric and, in the moments directly after he had finished draining Eric, he completely forgot about his plans and the worry he had for his family and friends. After a moment, though, the initial haze wore off and his mind began to clear.

A knock at the door. Jace.

"Whoa," Jace said when Simon opened the front door.

"What?" Simon asked suspiciously.

"You look. . . different. Almost intimidating." Jace's lack of a wordy explanation or a snarky comment struck Simon—he must have been taking Isabelle's death even harder than Simon could have imagined.

"Just take care of the body. I have somewhere I need to be."

 

Simon stood across the street from the patio restaurant where his sister sat with his mother. In the dark late evening, neither of them and noticed him yet. Then again, he didn't want them to. The gravity of the situation—as well as what he was about to do protect those he loved most—weighed heavily down on him. He pushed the thought away as he crossed the traffic-packed street. As he approached the table, his mother's back was to him; good—that way she wouldn't run as soon as she saw him coming.

He reached the table, his sister's eyes raising to meet his and nodding as he came to a stop beside his mother. Noticing her daughter's distraction, Simon's mother followed Rebecca's gaze to the son she hadn't even seen in week. Her mouth flew open as it to scream.

"Shh," Simon commanded gently but firmly before the sound left her mouth. The same glaze over look that Rebecca and Eric had worn earlier befell her face and her body visibly relaxed as Simon sat next to her. "Hi, Mom."

"Simon," she said blankly, unable to make sense of her sudden urge to trust her son again.

"Mom, I have to tell you something. It's going to be confusing and it's not going to make a lot of sense, but I need you to listen anyway and do exactly as I tell you." Slowly, Simon's mother nodded. Simon took an unnecessary breath and, after receiving a reassuring smile from his sister, he continued. "You and Rebecca are going to head upstate. You're going to stay in my friend Luke's farmhouse for a while. My friend Eric—you remember Eric?" His mother nodded again. "Eric is going with you. He's going to keep you safe." Simon pulled a large envelope out of his jacket pocket. "This should be enough money to help you get started. And there's a new ID and everything in there. I can't risk anyone finding you two. Do you understand?"

"I understand. Aren't you coming, too?" Simon's heart sank as he readied himself to say the most painful part of the speech he'd prepared.

"As soon as you get to the farm house, you'll forget that I'm alive." A small gasp from Rebecca made him pause, but he started again nearly immediately. "Your son died a few months ago. I was never a vampire. To you, vampires are just a story. Your son died in a car accident in the city. It's just you and Becky now. And Eric. You have to trust Eric with anything and everything. He's your friend and your body guard. You have to trust him. Okay?"

"I trust him," his mother agreed. Simon put a hand on her arm and smiled at her.

"Okay," he said gently. "I'm going to talk to Becky for a second. Then I'm going to give her the farm house address. You are going to go home and pack what you need, and then you two will be gone by this time tomorrow night."

"Yes, we will."

"Becky?" Simon said to his sister, standing and inclining his head to indicate that she should follow as he walked away from the table and out of earshot of his mother.

"You really did it," his sister breathed as she caught up with him. "You made her totally forrget you."

"I won't know if it works until you show up at the farm house."

"You mean once _she_ shows up. Simon, I'm not going. I can't. I have a life, school—"

"I'm keeping you safe, Becks. You promised me you'd trust me. Now I need you to keep that promise."

"Simon. . . I just can't drop everything. Besides, what if I slipped up around her? What if I bring up something about you and she remembers?"

"You won't slip up. I'll make sure of it. I promise." Simon held his breath as he waited for his sister to come to the conclusion he had only a few hours earlier.

Her face dropped, her fear becoming so prominent, it hurt Simon to see her. "No," she said softly, placing her hands on Simon's shoulder. "No, Simon. _Please_ don't. You don't have to. Please. I don't want to—"

Simon interrupted her pleas, his own hands over hers. "Shh. Rebecca, please understand why I'm doing this. I don't want this either! And I swear, if the day comes when I think it's safe enough, I'll come and restore your memories. Then I can tell you that story I promised I'd tell you. But until then. . ." Simon felt tears burn in his eyes and choked them back harshly. "Until then, you're going to go with Mom. You're going to live in the farmhouse. As soon as you walk through that front door, your brother is dead, okay? Everything you just heard me tell Mom? That's true. You believe that. You trust Eric and you're going to let him take care of you. And tomorrow, you and Mom are going to start a new life without me. Eric will be there with you as soon as he can. Until then, you'll stay under the radar. Do you understand?"

The hands on Simon's shoulders fell away. "Under the radar," she confirmed. "We trust Eric, and you are dead." Simon's heart shattered again, into infinitesimally small pieces.

"That's right," he said, his voice breaking.

"Then how will I recognize you?"

Simon smiled weakly. "I'm Simon. I'm just a good friend of Eric's." 


	13. Part Two: Drive Out Darkness

**Part Two**

_Drive Our Darkness_  
"Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that."

—Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.


	14. Chapter 10: White

“Are you sure about this?” Maia asked Jordan anxiously, clutching one hand tightly in the other. Her knuckles were white and she’d been biting her lip for so long, she’d begun to wonder if her teeth had managed to slice all the way through it.

Jordan placed a warm hand over Maia’s and nodded. She liked his presence. There’d been a time when Jordan had first come back into her life that Maia had constantly wanted to rip his throat out. Now, she didn’t even know how she’d survived the past few years without him, loving and supportive, by her side. “They’re our friends,” Jordan answered gently. “We’re here to offer our condolences to them.”

“ _And_ to let them know that we’re going to kill Sebastian for all the pain he’s caused,” Maia pressed.

“Yes,” Jordan agreed, smiling. “Though possibly in gentler terms?”

Maia grinned up at him briefly. “Possibly,” she conceded before moving to ring the doorbell of the Institute. In a matter of seconds, the front door opened and Clary stood before them, dressed in light gear, a slight sheen of sweat on her skin as though she’d been training. It had been a remarkable show of speed, even for a Shadowhunter. Even if Clary had been waiting in the chapel in the front of the Institute, she shouldn’t have been able to answer the door that fast. Strange. . .

Clary looked from Maia to Jordan and then back, as if sizing them up. “What do you want?” she demanded irritably.

“We wanted to come talk to everyone,” Maia answered, startled at Clary’s abrasive tone. “We wanted to know if there was anything we could do. We feel so terrible about what happened and—“

“Why?” Clary interrupted.

Maia stuttered, trying to follow the sudden turn in the direction of the conversation. Whatever she’d been expecting Clary to say, this certainly hadn’t been it.   
“What?”

“Why?” Clary sneered at them. “Why do you guys even care?”

“Of course we care,” Jordan responded defensively, Maia’s words still stuck in her throat. “Isabelle was our friend. We’d fought together.”

“And Simon and Alec, they’re our friends too.” Maia finally found her voice again. “Even Jace. Well, most of the time. And they’re all going through Hell right now. And you of course,” Maia added, horrified for a moment that Clary, even though she stood right in front of her, had been an afterthought to her. It was just that, at least to Maia, Clary didn’t really seem to be _feeling_ anything other than agitation, which was aimed at her and Jordan instead of someone like Sebastian. Then again, it was something most Shadowhunters excelled at quite early on in their lives—hiding their true emotions in times of distress. “We’re sorry for your loss, too.”

Clary laughed shortly and rolled her eyes, startling Maia yet again. “Oh, please. Just stop.”

“Clary—“

“I heard my father say once that you shouldn’t pretend to a grief you do not feel. My father may have been a lunatic but he knew what he was talking about then. You two barely knew Isabelle, just like you barely know Alec and Simon and the rest of the Lightwoods. Just like you barely know me.” Clary’s voice had risen to a shout and Maia was flinching back a little more with each sentence. There was something in Clary’s voice, in her eyes—a new coldness Maia had never heard or seen before. It wasn’t just different; it was positively frightening. “So you don’t get to tell me that you’re sorry for my loss. You don’t get to feel bad about losing someone you’ve only known a few weeks. She was _my_ friend more than she was ever yours. _I_ watched her die. I was there with her when it happened. But I’m not going to sit around and cry about it. I’m going to do something about it.”

“We can help you though,” Maia protested.

“I don’t need help and neither do the Lightwoods, especially from two pathetic Downworlders like you who can barely peel yourselves off of each other long enough to put on the façade of caring about everyone else’s feelings.”

Beside her, Maia could feel Jordan’s muscles tensing, could feel that he was about to explode. When he spoke a moment later, it was through gritted teeth in a barely controlled fury. “It’s not just you, you know. Alec and Simon—“

“Aren’t here,” Clary interrupted. “And the other Lightwoods have bigger things to do than to hear you two falling over yourselves apologizing when you don’t even know what you’re apologizing for.”

“Clary. . .” Maia couldn’t really think of anything to say to the other girl. She personally couldn’t even believe what she’d already heard and was almost afraid what new horrors would come from continuing the conversation. Still, Maia answered Clary softly but surely. “Look, I get that you’re angry. We all are. But that doesn’t give you the right to take it out on us. We’re you’re friends, Clary.” There was a strength behind the words that Maia didn’t really feel.

Clary seemed to mull the words over in her mind thoughtfully. Finally her features softened and, for just a moment, her eyes almost seemed _hers_ again. "Maia, I’m so—" Clary stopped short, slamming her eyes shut and putting a hand to her forehead as if she had a really bad headache all of a sudden. After a moment Clary slowly opened her eyes again and raised her gaze to meet Jordan's and then Maia's, and, just like that, her eyes were back to the cold, intimidating black tunnels they'd been earlier. "Well, that's new. . ." she muttered under her breath so quietly that Maia almost thought she'd imagined hearing the words. Out loud, Clary continued. "Look, you two should go." Jordan huffed and started to protest further, but Clary held up a hand to stop him. "Alec is with Magnus. Simon is God knows where. He was here for a little while, but. . ." Clary waved away the rest of the sentence noncommittally.

"What about Jace?"

"I don't know where he is," Clary answered quickly and, from the sound of it, she wasn't thrilled about that fact. "He got me back to the Institute but he disappeared a little while after Simon left. Besides, he's never been the kind to let anyone comfort him." Clary ticked off the remaining inhabitants of the Institute and Isabelle's family. "Maryse and Robert have been talking to the Silent Brothers for the past few hours. I've been training to stay out of the way. And to keep myself from thinking about her." The "her" in question needed no explanation, Maia knew. "You guys should probably go," Clary repeated. "There's nothing to be done here. I'm sure someone will call you if something changes." _Someone,_ Maia thought. Clary had said _someone_ —meaning that Clary herself didn’t particularly care whether or not they were involved. In fact, it seemed like more of an inconvenience to her than anything else.

"What about you?" Maia asked concernedly. Despite the hard time Clary was giving her, Maia still felt for the other girl. She hadn't just been friends with Isabelle—she'd seen her _die_. "Are you going to be alright alone?"

"I won't be alone for very long, I'm sure," Clary answered vaguely. "I'm fine, Maia. Really. Go. I'll talk to you later." Without so much as a "goodbye," Clary had shut the door of the Institute in Maia and Jordan's faces.

“Something’s wrong with her,” Maia told Jordan emptily.

“She just saw her friend murdered right in front of her,” Jordan reasoned. “By the insane brother that just kidnapped her no less. She’s not going to be a hundred percent.”

Maia turned to her boyfriend. “It’s not just that. She’s been different for days. Ever since she came back from Sebastian. . .”

“What are you thinking?” Jordan asked uneasily.

“I don’t know,” Maia admitted, glancing back over her shoulder at the closed door. “But I don’t think the person we just talked to is the Clary we know.”

“Maia. . .” Jordan began.

“We should call Alec.”

“What? Why Alec?”

“Clary’s working with Sebastian, Jordan. Alec needs to know that what he thinks happened in that alley with his sister didn’t happen. Clary has to be stopped. And we can’t do it without Alec’s help.”

Jordan bit his lip before answering, clearly having qualms about breaking up their group and not trusting Clary. Finally though, he spoke. "I'll call him. But we probably shouldn't talk until we're somewhere private."

"Sebastian has spies everywhere." Maia nodded. "Alright. Call him. Tell him we'll meet him at Magnus's apartment. Try to keep the details to a minimum over the phone, though. Okay?"

"Right," Jordan confirmed.

"Guys?" A voice came from behind Maia and she froze. Crap, she thought. Just who they needed to show up right now. Along with Jordan, Maia turned around to face Simon, who was looking up at them quizzically. "What are you guys doing here? What's going on?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Maia replied evasively.

"I'm here to talk to Jace. He's supposed to be helping me with something and he hasn't been answering his cell phone so I came to see if he was here. What’s your excuse?"

Maia shot a questioning glance at Jordan, then returned her focus to Simon. "Um. . ." she stammered. "We. . . We were just looking for Alec and Magnus. But they're not here. So we're leaving." Gesturing quickly for Jordan to follow, she hurried down the steps of the Institute and tried to brush past Simon. He, however, gently caught hold of her arm, effectively halting her.

"Wait, Maia." His voice was full of concern for her. He thought she was involved in something that could get her hurt, something she didn't want to share with him. He wasn't wrong. "What's going on? Please, just tell me. If something's wrong. . . Well, I can help."

"Simon, I don't think that's a good idea."

"I just lost my. . . Well, I don't really know what she was. My girlfriend, I guess. And then I sent my sister and my mother away to keep them safe. This time tomorrow, they won't remember who I am. So, if you guys are up to something, you have to tell me. I'm not losing anyone else." Maia was shocked at his words. She'd obviously known about Isabelle, but the news about Simon's family had caught her completely unaware.

Maia cast a sidelong glance at Jordan. "We have to tell him," she whispered.

"Tell me what?" Simon demanded.

"Are you sure?" Jordan replied uneasily, both he and Maia ignoring Simon's presence and unanswered question. "I mean, I think we should keep this on need to know terms until we're sure about it."

"He _does_ need to know," Maia insisted. "She's his best friend."

"Would one of you please tell me _something_?" Simon interrupted exasperatedly. "What are you talking about?"

Maia inhaled deeply before finally saying, "Simon, there's something we have to tell you. About Clary."

 

"I was beginning to think you wouldn't show up," Jace called over to Raphael Santiago, who had just arrived at the cemetery where Jace had managed to bury Eric's body—thankfully without the attention of any mundane groundskeepers.

"You didn't say much on the phone," Raphael replied in his usual monotone. "Just that you needed help and that you would make it worth my while. Care to elaborate, little Shadowhunter?"

Jace sauntered across the hard, cold ground, leaves and dead grass crunching underfoot, toward the vampire. "I wasn't lying. Then again, I never do."

"I find that hard to believe," Raphael muttered. Suddenly, Jace's hands flew to the lapels of Raphael's jacket and he was hauling him off the ground and up against a tree nearby forcefully.

"Let me get one thing straight with you, Santiago," Jace growled. "I just lost my sister and almost lost my girlfriend at the same time. Therefore, I'm not in the best place mentally. So, I might decide to lash out at whatever—or whoever—is near me. Let's get this over with as quickly as possible so we can both go home. That okay with you?" Jace's voice dared the other boy to argue. He didn't. Instead, Raphael just stared back impassively.

"You're the one wasting time, Shadowhunter. What is it you want me to do?"

Jace thought for a moment, then released Raphael, who consequently slumped against the tree. "Did you bring what I asked?"

Raphael gestured to a small, black duffel bag on the ground next to him; it had fallen from his shoulder when Jace had attacked him. "I always deliver, Jace. Now are you ready to tell me what you needed so much blood for?"

Jace pointed over his shoulder at the freshly dug grave in which he'd buried Simon's bandmate. "It's for him. I need your help in raising him, like you did with Simon."

Raphael arched an eyebrow at Jace. "Who? Who has been turned? And by whom? And why do the Nephilim care?"

"It's not the Nephilim. I’m doing it as a favor for Simon. He turned his friend Eric. He'd been turned into a subjugate by your friend Maureen. How is she, by the way?" Jace's tone was taunting. Raphael seemed to pale, if it were possible for a vampire to do so.

"She is killing us off, each member of the clan. One by one," Raphael replied darkly.

"So I've heard. Help me with this, and we will provide sanctuary for you."

"Sanctuary?" Raphael sounded doubtful, but hopeful at the same time. "You will protect me?"

Jace nodded. "Get Eric adjusted to being a vampire. Then, tomorrow, you'll send him to the address in here." Jace handed Raphael a large envelope. "There's enough cash and new IDs in here to keep them under the radar for as long as they need."

"They?" Raphael responded, confused. "There is more than one new vampire?"

"No," Jace explained. "Eric's going to be taking care of Simon's family. He's going to be staying with Simon's mother and sister."

"Humans?" Raphael asked incredulously. "He's going to be a new vampire and you think he'll be ready to be around humans as early as tomorrow? I'm no miracle worker, Jace. That's impossible."

"Then what do you suggest we do? Because he can't stay here and Simon's family are already gone. They can't stay alone and unprotected much longer."

Raphael shook his head and, for a moment, Jace thought that maybe Simon's plan hadn't been thought out well enough. Then, Raphael stopped, an idea seeming to come to him from the depths of his mind. "What if I sent someone with him?"

Jace wasn't sure how to answer at first. "One of your clan?" he finally asked.

Raphael nodded. "There is a girl. Lily. She can help him. Let her go with him."

"What makes you so sure she'd do it? You forget that you don't actually lead your clan anymore."

"Lily will follow me. She has sworn as much to me. She is one of my oldest friends," Raphael elaborated, his voice a much smoother, softer sound than Jace had ever heard from the vampire before. "I have a chance to keep her safe from this chaos. Why would I not give it to her?"

Jace's mouth quirked up slightly despite himself. "I'm shocked. You genuinely seem to care about someone other than yourself."

"Don't pretend to know me, Shadowhunter. There are many things you do not know about me." Raphael's voice sounded almost sad, and Jace had to wonder how much this girl really meant to the other boy.

"This girl," Jace began slowly. "Do you trust her around humans? Around people she doesn't know?"

Raphael nodded. "I would trust her with my life. She was one of the first people I met in this life. She knows me better than probably even I do. If I ask this of her, she will do it."

"Good. Then call her. And take care of Eric. I have to go." Jace started to leave but Raphael's voice stopped him at the graveyard entrance.

"What about the other part of our deal?" he asked anxiously. "You promised me sanctuary."

Jace turned back to him. "Yes, I did, didn't I? So, when you're done here and have Eric safely on his way, come to the Institute's sanctuary. We'll go forward from there."

"Thank you," Raphael replied, almost reluctantly; it seemed that there was nothing to be done about the uneasiness most Downworlders felt near Shadowhunters. "And I'm sorry."

Jace's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "For what?"

"For your sister," Raphael replied.

"Why would you care?" Jace answered back snarkily. "I thought you hated us."

"Oh, I do," the other boy confirmed. "But I know what it is like to lose family. I was close with mine until they passed on. It is a heartbreak that can never be fully healed. I know you must be suffering, even if you won't admit it. And so I am sorry."

Jace did not reply. He only nodded at Raphael as a show of understanding and thanks and then retreated quickly from the cemetery, walking briskly to the nearest subway stop on his way home to the Institute.

 

A knock came at the door of Magnus's apartment. "I got it," Alec told Magnus, getting up from his place on the sofa. Opening the door, he found Maia and Jordan—which didn't surprise him since they'd called and let him know they wanted to talk to him. What did surprise him, however, was the third person in the group, standing sheepishly but determined behind the two werewolves. "Simon?" Alec remarked, confused. "What—?"

"I know what you guys are doing," he answered plainly. "You all think Clary's working with Sebastian."

"Simon—" Alec began, trying to figure out a convincing lie.

"Don't. Spare me the lies and cover-ups." Simon pushed past Maia and Jordan to close the distance between himself and Isabelle's brother. "I believe you. And I want to help."

Alec was taken aback. "What?"

"It's no secret that something's up with Clary. Isabelle died trying to convince us as much." Simon's voice grew shaky as he spoke, but he continued anyway. "And Jace is blind as a bat when it comes to Clary, so he's going to be overprotective, especially now. I understand what you're doing here, Alec." Alec was speechless, so he just nodded. "But know this—I'm not going to let anything happen to Clary. We find a way to fix her. There's no _or_ s or _but_ s. We aren't going to hurt her. And if you try, I'll take you down myself. We're curing her, not killing her."

Alec was shocked at the bitter tone Simon spoke with. It was one he'd heard before, but never from Simon. It was one that he'd heard from people who were experiencing loss—and who were expecting a lot more in the near future. He knew that Simon had been close to Isabelle, but this was more than that. Simon had lost more than one person in the past few hours, though Alec couldn't quite figure out who.

"No one's going to hurt her, Simon," said Magnus, probably coming to see what was taking so long for Alec to return and consequently hearing at least the tail end of Simon's speech. "We've all lost enough for one lifetime. Now it's all about minimizing any further avoidable casualties."

Alec's heart leapt at the word "casualties," and Magnus slipped an arm around his waist comfortingly. Simon's eyebrows, along with Maia’s and Jordan's shot up. "So," Simon started, attempting a conversational tone to cover up his surprised one. "You two are all Brangelina again?"

Alec, who didn't understand the reference, looked up to Magnus for an explanation. "Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. 'Brangelina' is their. . ." He looked at Simon. "What would you call it, Daylighter?"

"I believe," Simon answered proudly, pompously flaunting his geek expertise, "that the official term is 'ship name.'"

"Ship?" Alec responded, completely lost. "What, did they get married on a boat?"

"No, not like that. 'Ship' is short for 'relationship.' You take two names of people in a couple and mash the names together."

"So. . . if we did it for our names," Alec said slowly. "We'd be 'Agnus?'"

Simon bit his lip and Jordan stifled a laugh as Maia watched on in an embarrassed amusement. "I think 'Malec' might sound a little less like an ancient woman's name, sweetheart," Magnus finally replied.

"You two are too adorable for words," Maia said, a grin spreading across her face. "Don't ever do that whole break up thing again, okay?"

A bright red flush spread across Alec's cheeks. Magnus, though flustered at somebody else's investment in his relationship as well, managed to form a response before Alec. Looking down at his boyfriend, Magnus grinned and said, "Not a chance in Hell."

 

Clary could see the design of the new rune floating in her vision. A rune, hovering like an angel: a shape like two wings joined by a single bar. It was the same rune as before, and, also like before, Clary had no idea what the rune meant. Trying and failing once more to capture the rune on paper, Clary let her pencil fall down on her desk, dropping her head into her hands.

A soft knock came from behind her, and Clary turned to see Jace standing in the open doorway to her bedroom. "Clary?"

Clary pushed herself up out of the chair and motioned for Jace to enter. "Hey," she said, studying him. In the dim lamplight, Jace shone like a candle flame, and Clary knew that easy glow had nothing to do with the heavenly fire still coursing through his veins. Clary stopped herself—why was she thinking about gorgeous Jace was? After all, her relationship with him served purely as a cover story now. No one could hurt her or even accuse her of anything as long as he thought she was still in love with him. That was all he was. . . Right? "You kind of disappeared earlier," she said softly.

"I had to help Simon with something." He didn't elaborate any further and Clary didn't inquire any more. She didn't really care where he'd been.

"You're back now, though. That's all that matters. As long as you're here, nothing bad can happen." Clary almost laughed at herself. She almost sounded genuinely concerned about him. "So, what's up?"

"I just wanted to come check up on you. You weren't in the infirmary, and I thought I'd find you here." Jace's voice was quiet and thoughtful. Clary had come to know that he only sounded like that when he felt like crying. But, being the strong, menacing man of the house he always thought he had to be, he hadn't allowed himself a single tear.

"I was too anxious to sit around in a hospital bed. I kept thinking and I just didn't want to think anymore." This part, at least, was true. After Isabelle's death, Clary's mind kept flashing back to the events in the alley, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. If she hadn't known any better, she'd have called it guilt. "So I went to the training room. I'd still be there now if not for that." Clary waved a hand in the direction of her desk and the drawing pad sitting on top of it.

"What is it?" Jace inquired, stepping closer to the desk to examine the sketch.

Clary glanced over her shoulder, following his gaze to the dozens of crumpled papers around the overflowing trash bin. "I wish I knew." She moved to sit down on her bed, meeting Jace's gaze as she did. "Some rune that popped into my head the more I thought about—" Clary choked on the rest of her words. "When I kept thinking about. . ." Clary attempted again and failed again. Rage flared through her. Why the Hell was she still upset about what had happened to Isabelle? About what _she_ had done to Isabelle? It had needed to be done and so she'd done it. She shouldn't be _feeling_ anything.

Jace noticed the change in Clary's mood an apparently took it as her feeling guilty for not having been able to save his sister, which, Clary supposed, wasn’t that far off. He sat down next to Clary, picking up one of her hands and stroking it absentmindedly with his thumbs. The gaze he gave her was gentle but intense. "Clary, I'm going to tell you something and I need you to listen to it. I need you to _believe_ it. This isn't your fault. What happened to Isabelle was not, in any way, your fault."

 _If he only knew_ , Clary thought to herself and sighed, pulling her hand away and standing with her back to the golden boy. "Jace—"

Jace jumped up from the bed behind her. "No, Clary. You need to know that no one blames you for this."

Clary spun on him. "Well, maybe they should!" she exclaimed, her blood pulsing loudly in her ears. "I _am_ the reason she's dead!"

Jace's face fell and he looked at her with soft eyes, almost as if he _pitied_ her. "Clary, no—" He reached out as if to touch her, but she jerked back.

"Don’t tell me that I'm not. You weren't there!"

"Simon told me what happened."

"Simon wasn't there either. You don't know, neither of you have _any_ idea what really happened in that alley." _Shut up!_ Clary thought to herself. She couldn't figure out where the filter on her mouth had gone or how to get it turned back on.

"Then tell me," Jace said, his voice almost begging. "Just sit down and tell me everything." Clary shook her head exasperatedly, but Jace continued. "Why are you blocking me out lately? You know I won't judge you, no matter what you tell me."

Clary laughed shortly. "You wouldn't even come close to saying that if you knew half of what I've done." Clary tried to push past Jace to get to the other side of the room—or the other side of the building; it didn't really matter. She just wanted distance from Jace, space to think—but Jace caught hold of her hand, and the sleeve to her pajama top along with it. As Clary came to a stop, her collar pulled away from her neck slightly. Jace stopped cold.

"What happened to your neck?" he asked, horrified. Clary had no idea what he was talking about. Her face and upper neck had taken a serious beating from a struggling and dying Isabelle, but Jace's eyes had fallen lower on her body, around her collarbone. Clary furrowed her brows and rushed over to the vanity to see what it was he was looking at. Gingerly pulling the collar back again, Clary's eyes fell on crude marks, almost like someone had marked her skin with a stele but not with any particular rune. Of course, as with any normal marks, they had already faded, leaving behind the faint white scars all runes eventually did. Clary ran her fingers lightly over her marked skin.

"What the Hell?" she demanded of no one in particular. "Nothing happened to me that I remember. The only thing. . ." She paused, turning over her shoulder to look at Jace. "Your kiss."

"What?" he asked, clearly not following her train of thought.

"When you kissed me earlier, you burned me," she explained, shaking her head. "But these don't look like burn marks."

Jace thought for a moment, eventually closing his eyes and nodding in understanding. He'd figured it out. "Heavenly fire," he said, opening his eyes again. "It's what we use in our steles to burn the runes into our skin. So, in a way, those do look like burn marks. Just not regular ones."

"Wait," Clary said. "So, just to clarify, you're like a walking stele now?"

Jace's lips quirked up in a grin at that. "Not how I'd put it exactly. I'm just naturally hot, I guess. Now I have proof."

"Well," Clary teased, "I'm not so sure about that. You wouldn't be that hot without me."

Jace laughed. "I was hot way before I ever met you."

"Maybe _hot_ ," she responded. "But not _smoldering_."

"That hurts, you know."

Clary reached up to touch the scars again, successfully gleaning a guilty look from Jace as she answered. "Oh, I know. Trust me."

They were quiet for a moment before Jace, unable to quell his constant necessity to talk, moved to stand beside Clary's desk, picking the sketch pad up carefully. "So, this new rune," he said. "What does it mean?"

Clary crossed to stand beside him, looking down at the flawed design along with him. "I don't know. Normally, I can get some kind of feeling from them. But this one. . . Nothing." It wasn’t entirely true—Clary had gotten a lot of feelings from the rune, just none she could put into words. She ran her hand down the paper, stopping just above Jace's fingers.

"Before, when you've come up with new runes, they've come to you when you needed them," Jace thought out loud. "This one came to you after what happened with your brother. I'm sure that means something."

Clary's hand slipped down the pad further, brushing lightly against Jace's fingers. Suddenly and inexplicably, the answer was right there in front of her, and she spoke without hesitation. "It's how we're going to stop him. It's how we're going to finally stop Sebastian."

Jace lowered the sketch pad back to the desk, breaking their contact. That moment of clarity puzzled Clary. What was even more puzzling was that it had gone away the second she had stopped touching Jace. It made no sense, but it worried her. It was like, for a moment, she was back to her old self. Almost the exact same thing had happened earlier with Maia and Jordan. And it scared the Hell out of her not knowing what it was. "But how?" Jace asked, snapping Clary out of her reverie.

"I don’t know," Clary admitted, looking back down at the picture she'd drawn. "I can't even get the design right on paper."

Jace's arm wrapped around Clary, his hand on her shoulder reassuringly. She resisted the urge to shrug it off. "Don't worry," Jace whispered, his breath moving the red hair that had fallen from her ponytail to rest by her ear. "You will. I have faith in you."

"That makes one of us," Clary muttered uncertainly.

 

Simon leaned back in his armchair, sipping at the coffee that had long since gone cold. As the silence in the room continued between himself, Jordan, Maia, Alec, and Magnus, he allowed his thoughts to wander to his family. He was glad he'd made decision, there was no doubt about that—at least they would be safe and out of the way. But, as time passed, he felt the reality of the situation sink into his mind. In just a matter of hours, all he would be was a distant memory in the minds of his mother and sister. The person they knew would be dead and he would only ever be a friend of a friend. Not that he could ever really visit anyway, not if he wanted to keep them safe. No, he had to leave his family in the protection of Eric, the newly turned vampire, and Raphael's "friend" Lily. Though Raphael had explained to Simon why it was necessary for Lily to go to the farm house with Eric, Simon still thought there was more to it than what Raphael had let on; the older vampire, Simon thought, was just taking advantage of the same situation Simon had to keep someone he cared about safe in the increasingly unsafe world they lived in. And who could blame him for that?

And then there was Isabelle. Isabelle, who he'd fallen for the day they'd met. Isabelle, who had been as deadly as she was beautiful. Isabelle, who may or may not have died at the hands of Simon's best friend, who had somehow ended up a pawn of her evil brother.

Clary, Isabelle, his family, even Eric. Simon was starting to see a pattern here—the people he loved were all slowly beginning to leave him. He was growing frighteningly alone.

"Nothing?" Alec had finally broken the uneasy silence in the apartment, dragging Simon's truthfully depressing thoughts back to the present. "We have nothing at all? No ideas whatsoever?"

Simon shook his head and looked around at the other faces surrounding him.

"We've been trying to take down Sebastian for months," Maia answered, her voice sounding as if her patience was wearing thin. "Now with Clary on his side? We're screwed beyond belief, Alec."

"Alec," Magnus murmured from his place on the loveseat across the room from Simon. "You _know_ what we have to do."

Alec, apparently too keyed up to sit, was leaning against an end table beside Magnus, anxiously tapping his fingers on his legs. "I know. I was just looking for another option. _Any_ other option."

"You guys have already come up with something?" Simon asked. "Why haven’t you said anything? This isn't really a time to keep secrets. It's a time to share what we know, pool together our intel, and decide together on a cohesive plan to move forward with."

"Dude, this isn't an Xbox game," Jordan piped in. "It's not some military strategy session."

"Isn't it?" Magnus posited.

"Enough," Alec responded tiredly. "Look, Simon, I know. And I know time is of the essence here, but. . ." He took a deep breath and sat down next to Magnus on the couch. Magnus, in turn, slid his hand onto Alec's knee, Alec taking the hand and gripping pack tightly in response. "It's just that this is a really hard decision. One I was hoping to avoid coming back to."

"What decision?" Maia asked concernedly. "Alec, what aren't you two telling us?"

Alec bit his lip, turning to Magnus, who gave a reassuring nod to answer his unspoken question. Finally, glancing around the room, Alec answered. "Magnus and I have decided to go ahead with our plan from before Clary came back."

"Wait, what plan?" Maia asked, looking from Alec to Jordan confusedly, as if she would find an answer in their expressions. "What are you talking about?"

But Simon knew. He remembered the meeting they'd had less than a day ago in this same room. He understood exactly the plan to which Magnus and Alec were referring. "Hell," he clarified, simply as a statement rather than a question.

Magnus nodded. "It's the only way," he explained. "We have to find Sebastian, and if my father can help, then we have to try."

"And Magnus isn't going alone," Alec added. "Desperate times call for desperate measures and this is as desperate as the Shadowhunters have been in since they were created."

"There's a difference between 'desperate' and 'undeniably suicidal.' You're going to _Hell_ to talk to _Satan_. How can this not end badly?"

"Alec's right," Simon interjected. "They're both right. We don't have another option here. Thank you. Both of you." Alec nodded graciously in Simon's direction.

And that's how, moments later, the group was talking amongst themselves about the intricate details and planning needed to actually get Magnus and Alec into Hell to talk to Lucifer, an idea that was still totally surreal to Simon. While Magnus was discussing the supplies they'd need for the ritual, Alec's phone rang. Upon looking at the caller ID, Simon saw Alec's already pale face blanche. "It's Jace," he explained quickly for answering and then exiting the room.

Simon looked over to see Magnus staring after Alec thoughtfully and he groped in his mind for a conversational topic. "So," he began. "Did Alec get a new phone?" _New phone?_ Simon thought to himself. _What kind of conversation starter is that?_ Surprisingly, though, Magnus actually smiled at the question.

"Yes," he replied, still looking in the direction in which Alec had left. "Earlier this morning."

"What's so amusing about that?"

"Jace broke Alec's old phone when Alec was helping Isabelle with some crazy plan a couple of days ago. Alec loves to act tough, but his sister had him wrapped around his finger so bad and he knows it." Magnus's smile faded. "Losing Isabelle is destroying him. I can tell." He turned to lock eyes with Simon. "What about you? How are you dealing with this?"

Simon shrugged dismissively and turned his face away, breaking eye contact with Magnus and instead looking out the dirty pane glass window. "The first in a long line of many to come, right? He replied bitterly.

"Simon." Magnus's voice was softer than usual, making Simon return his gaze to the warlock's. "She was your first. And you loved her very much. You don't have to hide that."

"Did you see the way Robert looked at me and Clary in that alley?" Simon asked. When Magnus didn't respond, he continued angrily. "He looked at me like I was _wrong_ somehow, like I was a vermin. That look told me all I needed to know. He never approved of his daughter's stupid fling with a stupid Downworlder before and he doesn't think I have any right to be grieving now."

"Ignore him, Simon. Grief makes us do things we would never think of doing otherwise. Grieve for her. You loved her and so you _have_ to grieve. You loved her—"

"Then why couldn't I save her?" Simon demanded. Maia and Jordan, who'd been caught up in their own conversation, looked up at this, their faces falling into pitying expressions. Simon bit his lip; he hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"Simon?" It was Alec, having hung up the phone and reentered the living room. Simon shook his head at the consoling tone in Alec's voice.

"Forget it," Simon said quickly, standing up. "What did Jace want?"

For a moment, it seemed as though Alec were going to continue pressing forward in the matter, but a subtle shake of Magnus's head in the Shadowhunter boy's direction quickly stopped him. His face grew troubled and he looked down at the phone still in his hand. "If what Jace said is true, and I don't really see a reason for it not to be, then we may have a slight hitch in our plan," he finally said without raising his eyes to the others in the room.

"What are you talking about?" asked Maia.

"Jace says that something's happened. He couldn't really go into details, but there's been some kind of emergency at the LA Institute and now the Clave is calling a mass Council meeting. All Shadowhunters have to attend."

"A meeting in LA?" Jordan responded hopefully.

"In Alicante," Alec clarified. "And my family has to go, too."

"What about Isabelle?" Simon replied indignantly.

"The Silent Brothers are moving her body to the Glass City. The funeral is going to be there as soon as we can get there."

"Perfect," Simon scoffed. "You know, I actually bet that part was your dad's idea. He has power in the Clave now. He could have kept the service here, where her friends could be there. Instead, he decided to move her to a warded city that only Shadowhunters are allowed into. Now none of us can say goodbye."

"Simon," Alec began, aghast. "My father's not a monster. That's not what happened. Anyway, this has nothing to do with you, any of you."

"Oh, come on, Alec. Admit it. You never approved of me and your sister either. You're probably glad I won't be there."

"Enough!" exclaimed Magnus, literally jumping to Alec's defense. He placed himself between Alec and Simon strategically and put a hand, firm but not hard, on Simon's shoulder. "You and I need to talk."

"No! I am so _tired_ of talking about this and thinking about it! I'm sick of not knowing what's going to happen and just waiting for the next bad thing to come around. I'm sick of just sitting by and watching."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jordan asked. "What are you going to do that we haven't been able to do for months, Simon? Stop the apocalypse."

"I don't know," Simon answered honestly. "But I know I can't stay here." Suddenly, Simon turned and made for the door in one swift move, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair as he did. "I’m leaving. I have to be alone to think about everything. I have go before I do something I regret." At this, he looked pointedly at Magnus and Alec. "I know you two mean well, and I'm sorry for what I said, Alec. I really am. But that doesn't mean I was wrong. Like you said, Magnus, I have to grieve. And I will. But, for now, I have to straighten my own life out before I do something that I will regret for the rest of my life, which, it seems, is going to get a Hell of a lot worse before it gets better."

"Where will you go?" asked Maia quietly. Simon turned his gaze to her brown eyes.

"I don’t know. I really don't know anything at this point. That's what I have to figure out. Please," he continued, an almost begging tone in his voice, "don't follow me. Don't come looking for me. If things get really bad, I'll come back, but for now. . ." Simon just shook his head, the words he'd needed to say already having been voiced. He inhaled deeply, took one more glance around the room, and then turned to the door to open it.

"You're giving up?" Alec demanded. "Are you kidding me?"

Simon turned, his mouth open with an explanation on his lips, but Magnus had already placed a hand on Alec's shoulder and begun speaking. "Alec, wait." The warlock looked at Simon, nodding his head slightly. "Simon has to do this. Trust me, I know what he's going through."

One more moment, one last speechless glance between Simon and Magnus, and then Simon had left the apartment before any more words could be spoken in protest.

 

The Frays had never been a religiously observant family, but Clary loved Fifth Avenue at Christmas time. The air smelled like sweet roasted chestnuts, and the window displays sparkled with silver and blue, green and red. This year there were fat round crystal snowflakes attached to each lamppost, sending back the winter sunlight in shafts of gold. Not to mention the huge tree at Rockefeller Center. It threw its shadow across them as she and Simon draped themselves over the gate at the side of the skating rink, watching tourists fall down as they tried to navigate the ice.

Clary had a hot chocolate wrapped in her hands, the warmth spreading through her body. She felt almost normal—this, coming to Fifth to see the window displays and the tree, had been a winter tradition for her and Simon for as long as she could remember.

“Feels like old times, doesn’t it?” he said, echoing her thoughts as he propped his chin on his folded arms.

She chanced a sideways look at him. He was wearing a black topcoat and scarf that emphasized the winter pallor of his skin. His eyes were shadowed, indicating that he hadn’t fed on blood recently. He looked like what he was—a hungry, tired vampire.

Well, she thought. Almost like old times. “More people to buy presents for,” she said. “Plus, the always traumatic what-to-buy-someone-for-the-first-Christmas-after-you’ve-started-dating question.”

“What to get the Shadowhunter who has everything,” Simon said with a grin.

“Jace mostly likes weapons,” Clary sighed. “He likes books, but they have a huge library at the Institute. He likes classical music …” She brightened. Simon was a musician; even though his band was terrible, and was always changing their name—currently they were Lethal Soufflé—he did have training. “What would you give someone who likes to play the piano?”

“A piano.”

“Simon.”

“A really huge metronome that could also double as a weapon?”

Clary sighed, exasperated.

“Sheet music. Rachmaninoff is tough stuff, but he likes a challenge.”

“Now you’re talking. I’m going to see if there’s a music store around here.” Clary, done with her hot chocolate, tossed the cup into a nearby trash can and pulled her phone out. “What about you? What are you giving Isabelle?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” Simon said. They had started heading toward the avenue, where a steady stream of pedestrians gawking at the windows clogged the streets.

“Oh, come on. Isabelle’s easy.”

“That’s my girlfriend you’re talking about.” Simon’s brows drew together. “I think. I’m not sure. We haven’t discussed it. The relationship, I mean.”

“You really have to DTR, Simon.”

“What?”

“Define the relationship. What it is, where it’s going. Are you boyfriend and girlfriend, just having fun, ‘it’s complicated,’ or what? When’s she going to tell her parents? Are you allowed to see other people?”

Simon blanched. “What? Seriously?”

“Seriously. In the meantime—perfume!” Clary grabbed Simon by the back of his coat and hauled him into a cosmetics store that had once been a bank. It was massive on the inside, with rows of gleaming bottles everywhere. “And something unusual,” she said, heading for the fragrance area. “Isabelle isn’t going to want to smell like everyone else. She’s going to want to smell like figs, or vetiver, or—”

“Figs? Figs have a smell?” Simon looked horrified; Clary was about to laugh at him when her phone buzzed. It was her mother.

_Where are you? It’s an emergency._

Clary furrowed her eyebrows as she reread the text again, and then once more.

"Clary?" Simon asked, and she looked up to see the same concern she felt plastered on her best friend's face. "Is everything alright?"

Something in the back of Clary's mind stirred just then. An idea was trying to claw its way to her conscious mind, but it wasn't quite able to make it there. She had no idea why, but she felt nauseated and suddenly wanted to be anywhere _but_ here. "It's my mom," she muttered on auto pilot as she glanced around at the bright lights and shops around her, the hundreds upon hundreds of mundanes milling about around her, getting in their last minute shopping as she and Simon were. "I have to go home." Was it strange that she couldn't remember how she and Simon had gotten here?

"Are you sure? You don't look so good. Do you want to go to the Institute? I can call Jace—"

"No," Clary answered immediately. "No, Jace can't come here."

"Okay, then." Simon was confused, she knew, but he moved on anyway. "What about Isabelle?"

Clary spun back to look at Simon, terror dancing in her mind. There was something about Isabelle, something she couldn't quite remember. Some reason Clary didn't want to see her. "Not Isabelle. Definitely not her."

"What are you talking about?" Simon pressed. "Clary, why don't you want to see Jace or Isabelle? Is there something you want to tell me?" Simon's voice was morphing, changing into something that unsettled Clary to her very core. Clary's phone buzzed again in her pocket, again her mother.

_Need you home right now. It's about your brother._

"I have to go," Clary repeated, still looking at her phone. "My mom. . ."

"She'll be fine," Simon replied. Only his voice didn't sound like his own. It was creepy, almost predatory. It made Clary glance up at him. She had to stifle a scream. Simon was smiling grotesquely, his long, needle-sharp fangs on display, dripping with blood. In Simon's grip was the body of a mundane teenager. She was blonde and had fair skin—which might have had to do with the fact that Simon had seemingly drained her entirely of blood in the middle of a crowd of mundanes. "I thought we could talk some more, Clary." Simon's eyes were gleaming wickedly in the white Christmas lights. Clary snuck glances around and was surprised to see that no one seemed to have noticed the poor girl in Simon's arms. No one even cast so much as glimpse in their direction. "What's wrong? You look upset, Clary."

"Simon," Clary choked out, backing away from him slowly. "What have you done?"

"Oh, now you care about killing innocents? That wasn't exactly your view on the matter earlier when you killed my girlfriend in cold blood." Simon threw the blonde girl's limp body to the ground and advanced toward her, his expression feral and vicious.

Now Clary remembered. That's why she couldn't see Isabelle now—she'd _killed_ Isabelle for her brother. None of this was making any sense. Clary's mind was foggy, but her body was still moving on instinct, backing away from Simon and throwing quick looks over her shoulders to find escape routes. Finally, Simon lunged at Clary, clawed hands outstretched. Clary brought up a fist and clocked Simon in the side of the head. She didn't wait to see how he responded or even how much the hit had slowed him down. She just ran.

She pushed through the crowd of mundanes, turning left down this corner and right down that alley, trying to keep as much distance as possible between her and the person who used to be her best friend. At one point, Clary's breath grew labored and, after turning yet another corner, she risked a glance over her shoulder. Thankfully, she could see no signs that she was being followed. Taking a deep sigh of relief, Clary placed her hands on her shaking knees, trying to regulate her breathing to the best of her ability after running what felt like a marathon.

A hand closed around her mouth suddenly and she felt her body being spun around and thrust up against the alley wall. There was something very familiar about this situation, Clary thought. Thrashing around, Clary tried to release herself from the iron grip of her attacker.

"Clary! What the Hell? It's just me!" hissed a strikingly familiar voice in her ear. She froze and finally looked up to get a good look at the man holding her. She slapped away the hand that was still clamped over her mouth and it fell away instantly.

" _Jonathan_?" she responded, dumbfounded. "What the Hell is going on?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Why were you running? I've been looking for you for almost an hour."

"Why? What are you doing here?" Clary shook her head, trying to make the conflicting memories in her head combine into one cohesive series of past events, though her efforts were to no avail. Jonathan stared at her in confusion before understanding seemed to flash through his thoughts.

"It seems I interrupted something," he said simply.

"Yeah, kind of," Clary replied exasperatedly. "Listen, I don't know what you're doing here, but we have _got_ to move. Simon. . . Something's happened to Simon. He's not himself. And he _knows_ somehow. He knows about Isabelle. He's trying to kill me."

Clary's brother cocked his head to the side and studied her. "So this is what your darkest nightmares consist of," Jonathan mused, more a statement than a question.

" _What_ are you talking about?" Jonathan rolled his eyes. Reaching into the waistband of his jeans, he pulled out a small switchblade. Clary's eyes went wide. "What are you doing?"

"Clearing this up as fast and as painlessly as possible," he brother replied, flicking open the short—but still wickedly sharp—knife. His hand, still on Clary's arm, tightened, holding her firmly in place.

A small cry escaped Clary's lips. "Jonathan, what the _Hell_ —?" she demanded, but her sentence was interrupted by her own bloodcurdling scream as her brother cut into the soft flesh of her arm. The incision was quick and small, but the damage had been done—blood so deep a red it looked black in the moonlight seeped from the wound and Clary was howling in pain, wondering how no one had managed to hear her and come to her rescue. Even for New York, she thought this amount of screaming in the heart of Manhattan wouldn't stay completely unnoticed.

"Clary," Jonathan growled, hand flying up to cup his sister's face. "Clary, focus. Pay attention. Something isn't right here."

"Really?" Clary snarled through gritted teeth. "I thought you were just stabbing me for fun."

"Clary, stop screaming. Stop fighting me. _Focus._ What's wrong with this picture?"

Clary shook her head. Her brother had officially jumped that extra few feet into total insanity. Reluctantly, though, she bit down on her lip to keep from screaming and stilled her motions. She looked down at the gash in her arm, blood still flowing from it substantially. She was actually surprised she wasn't lightheaded from all the blood loss already.

 _Wait a second_ , she thought suddenly, the epiphany finally reaching her. She _should_ have been feeling lightheaded at this point, if she were even conscious. Not to mention the fact the she should have been able to _feel_ her brother's hand on her skin, the blade cutting into her flesh, the pain of the damaged nerves on her arm. Instead. . . Instead she felt nothing at all.

"What. . . What's going on? I don't understand." Her mind was spinning trying to figure out this new turn of events.

"Think about it, Clary," Jonathan responded. "Where else can I meet you in a dark alley in the middle of Manhattan, attack you, have you scream like you were being eaten alive, and not have a single mundane interfere? Plus, you know. There's _that._ " He inclined his head at Clary's arm. What she saw when she looked at it again shocked her more than she thought anything in this crazy night could have. The wound that she had watch her brother carve into her skin had completely disappeared. Not only healed, but _disappeared_. As in, into thin air. It was like it had never been there. "Wounds that can be made and disappear at the drop of a hat," Jonathan continued. "Wounds you don't even feel."

Clary let all of this sink in for a moment as her mind caught up to her brother's. "A dream. It's a dream."

"Well," Jonathan replied, smirking. "Not just any dream. Whereas in normal dreams, you would just be talking to a figment of your imagination, here you're actually talking to me."

"Talking to _you_? As in, real world you?"

"The one and only," he answered, sweeping his arms out dramatically. Clary rolled her eyes.

"What, have you mastered the ability to dream-walk?"

"Don't be ridiculous. That's way beyond even me. It's fairy magic."

"Right. Because only _one_ of those sounds ridiculous."

"You've used fairy magic before," her brother reminded her. "The work rings you used to keep in touch with your friends during your little stay at the family apartment."

"The difference being that I don't have any fairy jewelry anymore, so how did you contact me?"

"Are you sure about that?" Jonathan responded, indicating Clary's left wrist with his hand. Clary looked down to see a golden hand-hammered band around her wrist. Her head shot back up to see a matching one on her brother's wrist.

"How did I get this? I don't have one in the waking world," she reasoned.

"Again, are you sure?" her brother answered, still smirking knowingly at her. Realization dawned in Clary's mind. She shot an agitated look at her brother.

"You broke into the _Institute_ to give me some stupid _bracelet_? Are you crazy?"

"That does seem to be the general consensus, yes. But don't think me stupid, sister. There is a fine line between stupid and crazy." Jonathan shrugged his shoulders, leaning up against the wall beside her. "I had a friend of mine deliver it. Someone the Shadowhunters wouldn't strike down the instant they crossed over the threshold of the Institute. My little network is growing faster than expected, I'll have you know."

Clary rolled her eyes again at her brother's boasting. "So why are you invading my dreams now of all times? It hasn't even been a day since I saw you."

"I don't know. I didn't contact you. You must have been thinking about me when you went to sleep I guess. Though, I like to think you do that every night anyway."

"Yeah, well I don't. I don't know what I could have been thinking about." Clary's voice betrayed her uneasiness and she knew it. She also knew exactly why she'd been thinking about her brother when she'd finally retired to sleep earlier—she'd almost ruined everything. That one moment of clarity with Jace. . .

"Clary?" Jonathan asked, capturing Clary's gaze. "What's wrong? What happened before you fell asleep?"

"I don't know," Clary answered honestly. "I was with Jace in my room at the Institute and something happened. I don't even really know how to explain it. Being with him, I had this moment where I was like my old self. I was still in _love_ with him and I wanted to help him. Jonathan, I have no idea what happened, but I know that _something_ almost made me tell him everything about you and me and what happened to Isabelle."

"Isabelle? You're still thinking about her?"

"When I'm with the others, all the time," Clary admitted. "It's like I feel guilty about it. It's not just with Jace, either. It was like that when I was with Simon, and then when I talked to Jordan and Maia. I mean, I can control it, but it's killing me. I shouldn't be feeling anything about it. You and I both know _why_ she had to die. It was her fault for sticking her nose in where it didn't belong. And I _know_ that. But. . . With them, it's like I'm fighting back. It's like the old me is fighting to come back to the surface." Jonathan didn't answer. He only looked down thoughtfully. "You said before that the demon blood was supposed to change me. So why am I still sympathetic with _them_?"

"I was worried this might happen." Jonathan looked back up into his little sister's eyes. "You have the blood of an angel in you, Clarissa. I was worried there might be some side effects of that blood mixing with the demon blood from the cup."

"You never said anything," Clary replied accusingly. "Why didn't you tell me you thought this could happen? And what are we going to do about it?"

Jonathan straightened up, placing his hands on Clary's shoulders. "I'll handle it, alright? You don't worry about anything. You're going to be going to Idris tomorrow. You need your focus on that and not anything else."

"How did you know about—?"

"How do I know anything, Clarissa? Now, focus. In Idris, I won't be much help. You know that."

"I know. And I promise I _am_ focusing."

"Can I ask you something?" Clary, recovering from the whiplash the change in subject had given her, merely nodded. "What was Jace doing in your bedroom?"

"What? Why would you ask that?"

"You said that Jace was in your room at the Institute. What happened?"

"Nothing happened," Clary responded carefully. "Now you're the one being ridiculous. I was just showing him this rune I was trying to draw." Clary bit her lip, wondering how to explain the conversation she'd shared with Jace earlier about the rune's potential. "You know, that's actually when I almost slipped up. I've been getting this feeling from the rune when it's in my head. When Jace asked me what the rune meant, I couldn't tell him at first. But then, when that moment came and I was me again, I said something. I don't know why I said it, but I think. . . I think this rune could hurt you. I even told Jace I think it's what's going to help us finally destroy you."

Jonathan thought for a moment, then responded, albeit with a question. "Can you show me the rune?"

"Show it to you?"

He gestured around him. "This is your dream world. You control it. So try this: picture the rune in your mind. Then, just make it appear."

"Where?"

Clary's brother smiled condescendingly at her—she hated that look. "Wherever you want."

Clary personally thought that this whole "dream world" concept was crazy. She was probably going to wake up to find that this had all just been one of her nightmares, that there really was no bracelet and that she had just made all of this up. For now, though, she decided to humor the figment of her imagination that was her brother.  She closed her eyes, concentrating on bringing forth the image that had been stuck in her mind all day. The design floated on the backs of her eyelids and, without having any idea if it was actually working or not, she _willed_ the design to reveal itself on the alley wall right in front of her. Peeking one eye open, she checked to see the result. Unsurprisingly, the brick wall opposite her was blank of any sign of the picture from Clary's mind. Clary looked at her brother, a grin spreading across her face. "Some dream world. I don't even have magic powers here."

But Jonathan wasn't looking at Clary. He was looking at the wall above her head. "Maybe you should stop doubting yourself so much," he said. Clary, confused, pushed off the wall quickly to see what her brother was looking at. And then she saw it. The rune from Clary's head had manifested itself, almost like graffiti, on the wall above where Clary had been leaning.

"That's it. That's the rune," she said, astonished and almost proud of herself for finally being able to see it physically before her eyes, if only in a dream. Jonathan, however, did not seem nearly as impressed—or as amused. "Jonathan, what's wrong? Do you know what this rune is for?"

Clary's brother was silent for a moment, studying the rune and stuck in his own mind palace, a place Clary never seemed able to quite understand. Finally, he turned to her, his casual smirk gone, replaced by a serious expression. "Clary, if I told you to stop trying to get this rune down on paper, to stop pursuing it in the waking world, would you? I mean without question, cold turkey, never even doodling it on a piece of scrap paper ever again?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"One I expect you to answer." Jonathan's voice was cold and hard. He almost never used that tone with Clary and it was definitely unsettling.

"Of course I'll stop. But why? What's it mean?"

"That's a question, Clary."

Clary hesitated. "I know. I just. . . I don’t understand. It's just some stupid rune. What could a little drawing do that's really so bad?"

"After all you've seen since you discovered the Shadowhunters, with Lilith's mark and everything else, how can you even ask that, Clarissa?"

Clary thought about that. Most of the Shadowhunters’s powers came from the rune Marks. Of course a little drawing could be bad. Knowing her world, it could bring about the apocalypse without her even knowing it. She mentally kicked herself for asking such an obvious question. "So what I said to Jace. . . That was true, wasn't it? This one little rune could be the end of you?"

"If it's what I think it is? Yes. It's more dangerous to me than any other rune known to the Shadowhunters."

"So you do know what it does?"

"I think I just might."

When he didn't continue, Clary began to feel her impatience with him reaching an all-time high. "And?" she urged.

Jonathan sighed. "I'd hoped no one—especially the Shadowhunters—would ever get close enough to find out. But I think this rune is supposed to hurt me at my weakest point. My Achilles's heel, so to speak."

"Which is?"

"Let me ask you this—you believe I'm a demon, right? You think that my humanity has been burned away by Lilith's blood?"

"Well, I _did_. You know, before you went and said it like that. It's what Lilith told Valentine would happen to you."

"And she was right—mostly. The thing is, it wasn't like she'd ever done anything like that before. She had no idea what could happen. Her guess was as good as anyone else's. True, my humanity isn't out there on display for the whole world to experience. Valentine took that as a sign that Lilith's words were gospel. As it turns out. . ." Sebastian left the rest of the sentence up in the air.

"Not so much?" Clary guessed. Jonathan nodded solemnly.

"My humanity, it's still there. It fights against the demon blood that keeps it suppressed. Most of the time I can control it, keep it under wraps, like you can. This rune, though. . ." Jonathan looked once more at the sketch on the alley wall. "I have a strange feeling it could change everything."

An unsettling silence fell between them and Clary studied her brother, who hadn't yet met her eyes again. "Jonathan," she said softly, touching his arm lightly. "I'll stop with the rune. I'll keep it from the others. Whatever I have to do. I won't let them hurt you."

Jonathan turned to look at her at this, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I know you won't."

"Clary?" A distant voice was calling her name. She looked around, searching for a source, but saw nothing.

Jonathan's smile seemed to fade a little. "Guess that's your cue."

"What do you mean?" Clary asked, confused. She was getting dizzy, the world around her beginning to blur and swirl in a mix of lights and colors.

"Time to wake up, my princess," Jonathan whispered into Clary's ear, dropping a soft kiss onto her lips.

 

Clary's eyes flew open, her hand throwing itself over her chest, in which her heart was racing furiously. What a crazy dream. Clary closed her eyes, bringing her other hand up to brush away the curls that had escaped her ponytail and now stuck to the sweat on her face. She stopped when cold metal touched her cheek. Opening her eyes, she held her wrist up to the light, shocked when the soft lamp light from her desk lamp reflected off of the same gold hammered bracelet she had worn in the dream. She smirked at the bracelet. "Son of a bitch," she murmured under her breath.

A chill ran down her arm and she pulled the comforter from the bed around her shoulders as she surveyed the room for the source of the draft. She was only half-surprised to find the window open—though she hadn’t left it open as she slept, she’d guessed that this had been the way Jonathan's "friend" had delivered her bracelet while she was sleeping. Standing groggily, she made her way over to the open bay window, closing and latching it to keep out the cold. A knock came at the door. Clary didn't move. "Clary?" It was Jace.

"Yeah?"

"Sorry to wake you up so early. But the Silent Brothers want to see you. They say it's really important."

Clary crossed her arms over her chest, trying to school her voice into a joking tone she would normally use with Jace. "Why didn't you just come wake me up in person? You've never been one to knock."

"Because I'm not used to being rejected from a young lady's bedroom," Jace replied snarkily and Clary rolled her eyes at him. _Damn you and your charm_ , she thought to herself. "But your door was locked and I didn't think you or Maryse would appreciate me breaking it down to wake you up at five in the morning."

"Hey, look at that. You actually care about what someone else thinks? Who are you and what have you done with the Jace I met a few months ago?"

"Funny, Fray. Are you going to open the door now?"

"Um. . ." Clary bit her lip. "No. I'm going to get dressed. I'll be out in like five minutes, okay?"

"Okay. I’ll see you in the library then." Jace sounded a little disappointed at not getting to see her, but he didn't push the matter. Soon, she heard his bare feet padding down the hallway and around the corner.

Clary shook her head and spared one more glance out the window when a flicker of movement caught her eye. She squinted, trying to see into the shadows below in greater detail, but she couldn't see much. Just a dark figure, sticking to the shadows for cover, watching her. He gave her a slight nod before slipping away into the rest of the city. Clary watched him go, puzzled. His hair had been light, like Jace's, and his eyes. . . Well, Clary could have sworn they were two different colors. Whoever he was, he was probably just Jonathan's little minion, and after another moment, Clary didn't spare him a second thought.

 

Raphael's paranoia had reached new heights and, in his mind, he kicked himself. He’d been a leader in this vampire clan for over sixty years. He was smart and strong; this little vampire girl that was after him was surely no match for him. Still, this girl had been able to kill Camille Belcourt, an ancient power even by vampiric standards. Maureen was obviously strong beyond the power of a normal fledgling. Which was exactly why Raphael jumped at every twig breaking and footstep behind him on his way to the Institute Sanctuary.

After another false alarm resulting in him glancing anxiously over his shoulder, Raphael had to resist the urge to scream. He hated feeling like innocent prey when he had spent the better part of the past decade as a vicious predator. He just wanted this to be over already; all he wanted was peace. Peace from the fear of being hunted, peace in a world that had gone to Hell.

There it was again. Raphael had been walking in crowds of mundanes for most of the night, hoping even a reckless child like Maureen wouldn’t have the tenacity to attack him in the middle of a crowded street. Still, even in such a huge crowd, the feeling of being watched and followed was constant and unnerving to Raphael. Yet another look over his shoulder revealed nothing unusual, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible was coming for him. Increasingly nervous, Raphael sped up his pace, half-walking, half-jogging on his way to the Institute.

As he finally turned the corner and the great glamoured building came into view, he breathed a sigh of relief. The feeling of being followed had never really disappeared, but he could find no evidence of anyone watching him, and so he decided that his “gut” feeling was just paranoia and exhaustion playing tricks on him. As he approached the doors to the Sanctuary, Raphael pulled out his cell phone to send a text message to Jace informing the other boy of his arrival.

“You’re old enough to be my _grandfather_ ,” said a squeaky voice behind him, “and you still have a cooler phone than me.” Raphael didn’t even have to turn around to know who was speaking.

“Maureen Brown, I presume,” he said dryly, turning to face her.

“Raphael Santiago,” she replied snarkily. She stood before him, arms crossed over her chest, in a blue blouse cut far too low for a fourteen year old and ripped skinny jeans. An omniscient grin was plastered on her face. “Glad I’m finally meeting you. It seems there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding when it comes to the leadership of _my_ clan.” The amount of malice she put into just one word was enough to make even Raphael’s skin crawl. She was intimidating for someone her age and size, he had to give her that much credit. “You seem to think that, because Camille was letting you have your way with the clan when she was alive, you are its rightful leader, even after Camille’s. . . _passing._ But, you see, Camille was always the leader of that clan, no matter who was actually leading it while she was being driven away by you. If you’d been strong enough to kill her instead of just exiling her, you _would_ be the rightful leader. But I was the only one strong enough to take her out. That makes me the master of you and all of your clan members. Now, I’d tell you to do things the easy way here and give up your leadership, to devote your loyalty to me and tell the others to do the same, but I get the feeling from that poor, disdainful look on your face that there’s no chance of that happening. Am I right?” Maureen’s patronizing tone set Raphael’s teeth on edge, but he didn’t reply. He only glared at her, pouring more fury into his look than he could have begun to put into words. Maureen laughed. “That’s what I thought.”

 _Where the Hell are the Shadowhunters when you actually need them?_ Raphael thought anxiously. Out loud, he said, “You are too young, too inexperienced with the Shadow World to make a good clan leader. If you work with me, you can be my second in command. You would be involved in every decision—“

“Sounds like an assistant to me,” Maureen interrupted lazily. “Doesn’t really seem fair at all. I did all the hard work of killing Camille and all I get is to be your _second in command_?” She scoffed. “I don’t think so. The law says that _I_ have the right to that clan. They are _mine_ now.”

“They will never stand with you.”

“Then they’ll die.” Maureen’s voice was dismissive. “I don’t really care. I don’t actually need any more vampires fighting on my side. It’s more the concept of ‘if I can’t have them, no one can’. You understand that, I’m sure.”

“I understand,” Raphael answered, disgusted. “I also know it’s childish. Foolish and selfish of you to waste lives like that. If you want to be a clan leader, those lives are not just at your disposal. They are in your care. That is why I say you are not ready to take your place in charge of them. And I will only step down if I know they are in good hands.”

Maureen only laughed again. “Like I said,” she taunted. “The hard way it is.”


	15. Chapter 11: Silver

Clary had never really been the most patient person. She hated staying still, especially when she knew that things were going on all around her. Until recently, she hadn’t ever had a real problem with it—she was able to fill her time with drawing or watching a movie or going to Java Jones with Simon. Since her life had taken its wild turn in August that had brought her face to face with the Shadow World she now lived in, she always seemed hyperactive and anxious, always needing to be proactive, always needing to have some kind of plan.

When she had finally joined her brother’s side, the feeling had only increased, though she was now rarely without a specific plan of Jonathan’s design. But Killing Isabelle Lightwood had not been part of that plan. And now, without knowing what would happen next, Clary was about to crawl out of her own skin with uneasiness. She wished that she could have had a few more minutes in the ream with Jonathan, wished she would have been able to ask him what was going to happen now. Jace, however, had interrupted her, waking her up to have some meeting at the request of the Silent Brothers.

When Jace had awoken Clary to tell her about the meeting, she’d wanted to curse at him and tell him to go take a long walk off a short pier for waking her up so early, but she knew that would probably only have aroused suspicion. So, she had gotten up, gotten dressed without bothering to shower, and met up with Jace outside the library doors only five minutes after waking up.

“Why is it that the Silent Brothers never want to hold meetings in the daylight?” she asked grudgingly as Jace came into view.

He shrugged, his lips twitching as he held back a smile. “Maybe because the light hurts their eyes?” he suggested sardonically.

“What eyes?” Clary responded, only half-committing to the joking between the two of them; she was too utterly exhausted to put forth too much effort into the charade here. Jace had seriously annoyed her by waking her up, so just acting civil to him was a challenge.

Jace seemed to think about her response before forming one of his own. “Then maybe they do it because they get so bored being glorified librarians for the Clave that they do crazy things so that someone will challenge them. Then, you know, the brothers can drive them crazy with the whole mind reading thing.”

“As ridiculous as that sounds, it actually makes sense to me.”

“Oh, no,” Jace replied with mock concern. “My conspiracies are making sense to someone. Either I’m dropping the ball or you’re going as crazy as I am.”

Only a few minutes later, Jace’s joking demeanor had disappeared entirely, as he watched on as Clary spoke with Brother Zachariah of all people. Her skin crawled around Zachariah more than it did with any other Silent Brother. He was just so _human_ compared to the others. And he always seemed to be more intuitive than other Shadowhuntes, which made Clary want to be anywhere else but across from him at Hodge’s desk.

 _Clarissa_ , said the familiar voice in her head. _I understand it hasn’t been a long time since the events that transpired between yourself, your brother, and Isabelle Lightwood_ —

“Less than a day, in fact,” Clary interrupted shortly. A quick glance at Jace and his confused expression told her that he could not hear Brother Zachariah’s side of the conversation. “Don’t bother with the formalities. It’s five thirty in the morning and I’m cranky. What is it the Clave wants from me? I already know about the Council meeting in Idris. I know that’s why we have to go tomorrow. So tell me what I don’t know.”

 _Very well,_ Zachariah answered, seemingly unfazed by her interruption. _I trust you are aware that Jonathan Morgenstern is the largest priority of the Clave and that finding him is imperative._

“Well, I would imagine so. He’s killed more Shadowhunters and Downworlders than even dear old Dad’s record boasts.”

 _Yes,_ came Zachariah’s voice slowly. Clary bit her tongue and reminded herself to try to keep the snark and sarcasm to a minimum around the others. _And now, what with the attacks on the larger Institutes and the kidnappings, his capture has never been more necessary._

Clary was preparing an answer correcting Zachariah’s use of the word “capture” instead of “death”—her brother would never have been taken alive, to be left to rot in the Silent City or worse and everyone knew that—when the rest of the sentence sunk in. “Wait,” she said numbly. “What attacks? What _kidnappings_?” Jace’s head shot up, eyes passing from her to Zachariah’s. This didn’t seem to be news to him. “Jace?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Zachariah spoke again, but Clary could tell the words weren’t meant for her. _She was informed of your travel to Idris and the council meeting, but not of the incident at the Blackthorn Institute?_

Jace avoided Clary’s glare as he answered. “Maryse thought it would be a good idea to wait to tell her about it. It was too soon after Isabelle and we knew what would happen when she got to Idris and—“

_It has been my own personal experience that Herondale men, especially the young ones, are not known for their respect of authority, especially parent figures._

“And normally, I fit that stereotype to a _t_. But I happened to agree with Maryse on this particular issue, believe it or not.”

“As fascinating as all this is, would someone please answer my question?” Clary finally said, on the verge of a panic attack while waiting for the answer. The truth couldn’t possibly be as bad as the horrifying images floating through her mind.

 _Jace?_ Brother Zachariah prompted, inclining his head to give Jace the floor. Jace, reluctantly, met Clary’s gaze as he finally started talking.

“A few days ago,” he began, “the attacks started. All around the world, first at the smaller Institutes, then the larger ones. First, the wards would fail, then _they_ would come. Dark Shadowhunters make their way through the Institute, taking prisoners while they’re finding what they’re looking for. Then, some of the Institute’s children are selected while the others are executed. No survivors.”

“Then how do you know what happened?”

“Yesterday, right before Sebastian attacked you and Isabelle in the alley, the Blackthorn Institute in Los Angeles was attacked. The head of the Institute was full of Shadowhunters in training, and they were able to hold off the attack and notify the Clave to send reinforcements. From what I hear, a couple of twelve-year-olds were the main source of action. Now, I want to meet those two. Dark Shadowhunters were made to be indestructible. For a pair of kids who probably just got their first marks to take them on, much less kill them?” He shook his head in appreciation.

“Wait, the Blackthorn Institute?” Clary asked. “Didn’t we meet them last month? I mean, _you_ didn’t, obviously. But I think they were here for the council meeting. The oldest, Helen, is dating Aline Penhallow.”

Jace’s eyebrow perked up at this—apparently no one had thought to tell him that the girl Clary had caught making out with him when she had first arrived in Idris wasn’t exactly single anymore. “Well,” he said drily. “In my defense, when I kissed her, I was still trying to cope with the fact that I was in love with my sister, so I wasn’t exactly at my peak.”

“She was gay before then, Jace. She kissed you to see if she could be into guys, too.”

“I feel so used,” Jace replied with disappointment, but the curling at the edges of his lips let her know that he found amusement in the revelation.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Clary remarked.

 _Children_ , Zachariah interrupted in their minds. _Please. Focus on the matter at hand._  He turned his face to Clary, the hood he wore obscuring most of his features. _To answer your question, yes. You met a few of the Blackthorn children who were involved into the attack at the council meeting here. Helen Blackthorn was not actually involved directly in the attack, however. She was staying with the Penhallows in Idris. Of course, she returned to Los angeles as soon as she found out about her family. The remaining inhabitants of the Institute have returned to the safety of the Glass City where they await debriefing._

“You said there had been kidnappings at the other Institutes,” Clary began nervously. “Children. What about the Blackthorns? Were any of them taken?” Clary’s mind traveled back to when she’d first met the Blackthorns a month ago in the Institute’s cathedral. Helen had been a member of the Clave by then, helping to make decisions including the choice of whether or not to deprioritze the search for Jace. Helen had voted against the motion. She had fought with the rest of them—very well, in fact—during the battle at the Seventh Sacred Site. She was a well-trained Shadowhunter. But the younger children Clary had met were not, like the little boy named Jules, whose hands had been completely covered in blue wax from the candelabras in the nave. He’d had a devilish grin and seemed like any normal child. He’d almost reminded Clary of nine-year-old Max Lightwood, with his hyperactive imagination and rampant curiosity. The thought of him being kidnapped or hurt at her brother’s hands made her shudder. Granted, she had no idea what her brother wanted the children for, but she could guess that it wasn’t anything too pleasant for them. _What the Hell does he need with Shadowhunter kids?_ The question racked around in Clary’s brain until Jace finally answered her question.

“They weren’t able to get any of the youngest children. The two twelve-year-olds, Emma Carstairs and. . . Jules, I think? They hid the younger kids away in a sort of panic room and fought off the Dark Nephilim while they waited for backup from the Clave. Ingenious, really. There was an older boy, though. Mark Blackthorn. He’s a little older than Helen. He’s missing. No one really saw what happened, but, apparently, he was taken by Sebastian’s little army when they retreated.”

_We still aren’t sure exactly what happened. Interrogations are planned and now a Council meeting is called for all Shadowhunters in Alicante._

“And that’s why you wanted to meet with me at five in the morning? To tell me that my brother made a mistake and that we might be one step closer to catching him?” Despite her flippant tone, Clary was beginning to realize just how serious this could be in the long run and how dangerous it could be to her brother’s plan. Or his life, for that matter. No one had been supposed to make it away from that Institute alive unless they were with her brother’s army.

 _Not exactly,_ Zachariah answered. _I am here to tell you that theirs are not the only interrogations that will happen in Idris._

“Okay,” Clary responded, wishing the Silent Brother would get to the point soon so that she could go back to her room and maybe get a chance to rest before they all left for the City of Glass. “Who else?”

_You, Clarissa, have also been asked to testify under the Mortal Sword about what happened to the Lightwood girl and anything your brother may have said to you about where he is staying or where he’s going._

A darkness seemed to weigh her body down pulling her under the surface of fear until she was drowning with it. Still, she just barely managed to keep her face pensive as she spoke. “Why the Mortal Sword?” she asked, her voice tighter and more high-pitched than she’d have liked. Then again, she was on the verge of a major nervous breakdown, so the fact that she was able to speak without shaking was pretty commendable. If they used the Mortal Sword on her, she would lost all sense of loyalty to her brother. She wouldn’t be able to fight the pull to reveal everything she knew about Jonathan to the Shadowhunters’ Council. And then what? She’d be branded as a traitor and killed or imprisoned in the bone city for the rest of her life. “I’ve told you all I know. It’s not like he gave me his GPS coordinates or anything. He didn’t mention anything about where he was staying. I don’t know what you think you’ll get from me.”

“It’s just a precaution, Clary,” Jace reassured her. “You may have repressed something or thought it was unimportant, and so forgotten it. The Mortal Sword will help us know exactly what happened.”

 _Great_ , Clary thought. To Jace, she said, “The Mortal Sword is used for criminals, people you think are hiding something. Does the Clave think I don’t want my brother caught? Because I want all of this over as much as everyone else. More, even.”

 _Do you?_ Inquired Brother Zachariah. _It seems to me, Clarissa, that you_ are _hiding something from all of us. Care to share anything with us before it is too late? Perhaps you want to tell us why you are really so afraid to take up Maellartach in front of the Council?_

Clary glared at Brother Zachariah, her eyes dangerous. Then, behind her, she heard Jace’s phone vibrate in his pocket. “I have to go,” Jace said after reading the text message. “There’s something I have to take care of. A promise I have to keep. I’ll be back in just a minute.” He stepped forward to kiss Clary on her forehead before turning to leave the library. Clary reached out for his hand.

“Wait, Jace. Don’t leave.”

“Clary—“ he protested, but she continued.

“We’re almost done here, I promise. Just give me one more minute,” she begged. Jace sighed and nodded.

“Okay,” he agreed. “I won’t leave you.”

Clary returned her gaze to Zachariah. “I have nothing to hide,” she said, more confidently than she felt. “I will give testimony by the soul sword and answer any questions the council has for me.”

Clary could feel Zachariah’s skepticism in her mind as she got up to leave. Then, as she followed Jace through the door of the Library, the voice in her head stopped her once more. _You are not yourself, Clarissa. And I am not the only one who has taken notice. Tread lightly from now only, Clary Fray. What you expect to happen in the next few weeks may turn out to be very different than the actual outcome of events._

“Duly noted,” Clary replied, her voice dripping with acidity. Then, making sure Jace was not paying attention, she sent a mental message to Zachariah, knowing he could hear her thoughts. _You know my name is not Clary Fray. My name is Clarissa Adele Morgenstern. And I suggest you follow your own advice, Z. Tread lightly._

She slammed the door to the library shut, Zachariah staring emotionlessly and silently after her. “You alright, Clary?” Jace asked, and Clary instantly regretted making such a scene with slamming the door.

“I’m fine. Zachariah was just giving me some investment advice. I was letting him know that I wasn’t interested.”

 

“Alec, calm down. Your pacing is giving me whiplash.” Magnus ran his fingers through his blue spiked hair in agitation.

“How am I supposed to calm down here, Magnus? Clary is a crazy, murderous Dark Shadowhunter with my _parabatai_ as a body guard, and now she has an open invitation to Alicante, the Shadowhunter capital of the world. You’re right. What could happen?”

“Alec—“

“And what’s worse is that, now, I have to go too, and our one chance to help her is shot to Hell now that we can’t _go_ to Hell.”

“Alexander,” Magnus repeated for probably the thirtieth time since Simon had left, followed shortly by Maia and Jordan. By now, the word’s soothing tone was mixed with one of exhaustion and total exasperation. “I’ve been to Idris before, you know. I could get there again if I wanted to. Or I can just stay here and go to Hell by myself, like I was always planning to.”

“That’s not funny. We agreed you wouldn’t go without me. But getting into Idris right now is almost impossible. The whole country is like a fortress. And the city is even worse. Once you get in, you have to get special permission to leave, and you have to tell the Clave where you’re going. Word is they’re sick of Shadowhunters going rogue and trying to do things by themselves.”

“I’m not surprised that they’re trying to crack down on you guys. Especially after the huge battle that happened a month ago without them even knowing.”

“Magnus, this isn’t a joke. How am I even going to try to explain to the Clave that I am leaving the city to go meet my Downworlder boyfriend so that we can perform a demonic ritual to travel to Hell to visit your father, the Prince of Hell himself? And what happens if I lie and they catch me?”

"They'll detain you for questioning, probably arrest me and interrogate me extensively before locking me up in the Silent City," Magnus joked. He stopped when he saw Alec's very unamused expression. "If we get caught," Magnus answered seriously, "then I guess we'll have to try to convince the Clave that Clary is dangerous and, hopefully, they'll listen."

"You're crazy," Alec replied, defeated. "This isn't going to end well."

Magnus wrapped his hands around Alec's waist, pulling him close. "Look at all we've been through, Alec. How much worse can it get?"

Alec rolled his eyes. "You've jinxed it now. It's about to get a thousand times worse."

"Well then I guess we'd better makes the most of the time we have." Magnus placed his index finger beneath Alec's chin and bent down to touch his lips to his boyfriend's.

"This isn't a joke," Alec repeated when they pulled away from each other for air.

"Do you see me laughing?" Magnus replied in a husky voice, his face not betraying any emotion.

Before Alec could answer, a small noise pinged through the apartment. Magnus groaned. "I am suddenly feeling the urge to take after Jace and throw that phone to the ground. Or against the wall."

"Are you talking about the phone or about me?" Alec whispered in his ear and a warm rush of blood shot through Magnus's body as his breathing became even more shallow and uneven. Alec pulled the phone out of his jeans pocket, having to move Magnus's hand to retrieve it.

Reading the screen, Alec's brow furrowed and he put a hand Magnus's chest, preventing the warlock from moving in for another kiss. "Oh, my God."

"What's wrong?"

"It's Raphael Santiago," Alec replied emptily, looking up into Magnus's eyes. "Jace and Clary just found him _decapitated_ outside the Institute Sanctuary."

Magnus shook his head in disbelief. "Wait. Raphael is dead?" An empty feeling had settled in his chest.

"Yeah," Alec answered slowly, analyzing Magnus's expression. "I know he was at your party the night we met, but I didn't know—"

"We weren't friends," Magnus cut him off stonily, stepping back so that the hand on his chest fell back to its place at Alec's side. "I just knew him. Right after he turned, I helped him out, gave him a place to stay. But we've barely spoken in years."

"I'm sorry," Alec replied understandingly. He hesitated, then continued. "You know who did this, Magnus." It wasn't a question so much as a statement of fact.

Magnus nodded. "Maureen finally has her clan."

"It's not just Maureen. Who do you think she's working with? Who do you think is giving her all the information she has?"

"Not this again, Alec," said Magnus tiredly.

"Sebastian is building an army of Downworlders to stand with him against the Shadowhunters, starting with the strongest and most powerful first. He's recruiting and anyone who refuses him dies. Don't think you've escaped his notice. You're one of the most powerful warlocks out there, the High Warlock of Brooklyn. He'll come after you."

"I'm not worried."

"I am. I'm always worried about you."

"Don't add any more stress to yourself, Alec. I'll be fine. If he comes to ask me to join his little 'I-hate-the-world' fan club, I'll tell him to piss off."

"And then he'll kill you, Magnus!"

"I'd love to see him try that again."

"And you will, trust me. If you keep helping us and working with us. . ."

"Alec, I know you think I should be, but I'm not scared. The only thing I'm worried about is keeping you safe. Thankfully, you're going to Idris and will be in the wards soon enough. And I'll be there as soon as I can. But I can't just go into hiding or something. There are things that need to be done here. You know I'm the only one that can get into Hell to see my father."

"I know. It's just that. . . I almost lost you once already, Magnus. On the battlefield last month, when Amatis attacked you. When I saw you get hurt, I thought you were dead and I realized that I was just not ready for that. I stopped fighting in the middle of a battle to run to your side because I thought you were dead or about to die. I didn't even realize my _parabatai_ had been stabbed nearly to death. All I could think about was that I'd almost lost you. The feeling that came with that was something I never want to feel again. I just lost my sister, and my brother before that. Everything I touch seems to die. But I won't let that happen with you. Even if I have to disobey the Clave and stay here with you—"

"Don’t be ridiculous. You have to go. Go grieve with your family, if not for your own sake, then for theirs. I'll find a way to Idris, and I will let you know when I get there. I know what feeling you're talking about, Alec. I've lived a long life, gotten attached to too many people and been hurt when I lost them. But, in eight hundred years, I've never met anyone who can scare the Hell out of me like you can. I've never met anyone I’ve truly been willing to die for.”

“Not one person?” Alec questioned shakily. “I find that a bit hard to believe.”

“Put it this way, then, Alexander: I have never once even _considered_ the possibility of asking my father for any kind of help. Others have asked, but I’ve never held it as an option until you were the one in danger.” Alec didn’t answer, but Magnus didn’t need him to. All he needed was this moment. “Now that we’ve gotten past all that,” he continued cheerfully, “can we do away with this unnecessarily stressful and anxiety-inducing conversation and get back to our earlier activities?”

Alec smiled gratefully. “That depends,” he answered. “To which activities are you referring?” He pressed a kiss to Magnus’s lips softly.

“I believe something was said about walls and floors?” Magnus whispered against Alec’s mouth, grinning maniacally.

Alec laughed. “Whoa, now. I have to be back at the Institute in an hour to leave for Idris with the others.”

Magnus slung his arms around Alec’s neck, crushing his lips against those of the boy with the brilliant blue eyes he’d fallen in love with. “You can be a little late,” he said hurriedly when he pulled back a moment later. “I don’t know how much longer I’m going to have with you, Alexander. So, I’m going to live while I can, and I want you to be here with me while I do.”

“Well, as long as we’re just _living_. . .” Alec began. He searched Magnus’s eyes for another moment before bringing his lips up against Magnus’s again. “You’re right,” he said, his voice hoarse and his breath coming in shallow pants. “I think I can get away with being a little late.”

 

As Clary packed, her mind raced with a thousand different thoughts. She was going to have to testify under the Mortal Sword in front of the whole Shadowhunters’ Council. She was going to betray all she knew about her brother to them and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She needed to talk to Jonathan. Maybe if she took a quick nap, no one would notice. . .

“Clary?” Clary turned to see her mother standing before her, dressed surprisingly in Shadowhunter gear.

“Mom?” she asked in surprise. “What are you _wearing_?”

Jocelyn looked down to examine her clothing, apparently not understanding why it had shocked her daughter. The black leather-like material looked good on her mother, she realized. It fit her perfectly and she made it look like she was born to wear it. Which, Clary supposed, she was. Still, it was strange to see her own mother look, for lack of a better phrase, drop-dead gorgeous. “Gear,” Jocelyn answered obviously.

“Yes, I can see that. _Why_?”

“I’m going to Alicante. I figured it would be appropriate.”

“Wait, rewind a second! Now replay.”

“I’m coming to Alicante with you,” Jocelyn explained more slowly.

“Why?!” Clary exclaimed belligerently.

“Well, Luke has to go because of the council meeting and you’re going to testify to the council. Of course I’m going.”

“You aren’t even a Shadowhunter anymore. How are they even letting you into the city?”

“I was in the city the last time you were there,” Jocelyn reminded her.

“Yeah, but Jace says there’s all kinds of new security and everything.”

“And that’s why we sent word ahead of our arrival to inform the Clave that I would be staying with Lucian,” said Jocelyn, sounding baffled at her daughter’s resentment of her coming to Idris. “I thought you’d be happy.”

“I am,” Clary answered hurriedly, stumbling over the rest of her sentence. “I just think you’ll be safer here.”

“Like you said, sweetheart. There’s all new security in Alicante because of the attacks. That makes Alicante pretty much the safest place for us to be right now.” A small smile crossed Jocelyn’s delicate features, lighting up her beautiful face. “Besides. . .” she started, then hesitated. Now Clary was intrigued.

“Okay, what’s going on? What aren’t you saying?” Jocelyn looked at her feet and mumbled something under her breath. “What?” Clary asked. Jocelyn looked up at her and repeated herself more clearly.

“Luke and I are going forward with the wedding. We’re getting married in just a few days, when we get everything set up in Alicante. If all goes well, the Clave may even let us stay in the city, as Luke is now a council representative.”

“You’re getting married in Idris? Mom that’s great!” Thought Clary normally saw eye to eye with her brother on most things, she still couldn’t figure out his serious hatred for the woman who had given birth to them. Still, the mere thought of Jonathan made Clary’s own attitude toward her mother turn sour. “I don’t suppose both your children are invited?” she snapped, more harshly than she should have. Jocelyn’s shoulders slumped and her smile fell.

“No,” she said, her expression somber. “I only have you. Jonathan isn’t my son anymore.”

Clary wanted to yell at her, but when she opened her mouth, something completely different came out. “What if he was?” she blurted out. Jocelyn looked at her in utter confusion.

“What?”

“What if Jonathan were himself again? What if the demon in him was gone and he was the child you lost again?”

For a moment, a smile flickered across her mother’s face, hope in her eyes. But, as soon as Clary had registered the change, it had disappeared. “Clary, there is no Jonathan anymore. The demon blood has burned away his humanity. My son is dead.”

“But say that he wasn’t,” Clary pressed determinedly. “Say that there was a way to bring him back.”

Jocelyn’s expression was pained, wishing Clary would stop re-opening old wounds, probably. “I don’t know, Clar—.“ Jocelyn stopped suddenly, holding out a hand to steady herself against Clary’s bed as she lost her balance. Clary shot forward to catch her mother’s other arm.

“Mom!” she exclaimed concernedly. “Mom, what’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” her mother assured her. “I’m just not feeling well right now.” Jocelyn straightened up, placing a hand on her stomach. Clary kept a firm hand on her arm.

“Mom, you haven’t been feeling well for the past few _days_. Are you sure you should be travelling?”

“I’m fine, Clarissa,” her mother insisted, lowering herself to sit on Clary’s bed. “And I’m meeting with someone in Idris. I can’t stay here. I am not leaving you alone after everything that has happened to you.”

It was then that Clary figured out her mother’s true agenda. “You’re coming to Idris to babysit me, aren’t you? You’re afraid that I’m a loose cannon. You think I’m going to build up anger at Jonathan, at myself, at you, at everyone else until I finally explode. But I won’t, Mom. I’m fine. I swear.”

“I’m your mother. I can tell when you’re lying, Clary.”

“And I can tell when you are. And you and I both know you’re sicker than you’re letting on.” Off Jocelyn’s look, Clary conceded. Her family was always going to be her weak spot. “Fine. I’m angry.” She broke Jocelyn’s gaze and looked out her bedroom window. “I’m angry that Isabelle has to die, that her little brother had to die before that. I’m pissed that my brother’s kidnapping Shadowhunter children and killing the adults in their Institutes. And what drives me crazy more than any of that is that I don’t know what any of it was for.” _Whoa,_ Clary thought to herself. _Where is all of this coming from? I’m getting too emotionally attached—I need to get a hold of my mind again_. “I mean, I know Jonathan thinks that all of it is necessary, and maybe if I knew why he thought that, if I knew what purpose he thought it all served, I’d be okay. But I don’t and I just. . .” Words failed her, but her mother seemed to understand exactly what she meant.

Jocelyn pulled her daughter to sit down on the bed beside her, wrapping her arms around her in a warm embrace. Clary allowed her head to fall onto her mother’s shoulder as Jocelyn rubbed her back soothingly. “It’s okay, baby. I know what you mean. I feel the same way.”

 

The moment Clary exited the portal and regained her balance, she knew that this trip to Idris would be nothing like her last one. The first thing she noticed was the number of guards that were standing at the gates that she was about to pass through into the city. Looking around, her eyes fell on Jace and she strode over to stand beside him.

The Lightwoods—including Jace—had travelled by means of the Silent City, along with Brother Zachariah. Though the city was definitely the easier route—and faster, as it connected all the major cities to allow fast travel for the Brothers—Clary had decided to travel by portal with her mother and Luke instead. After her encounter with Brother Zachariah and the things he was able to read from her mind, Clary shuddered at the idea of being surrounded by so many Silent Brothers in the City of Bones. Jace and the others had agreed to wait for them on the other side of the portal, just outside the gates of Alicante.

“I know you told me about the new security,” Clary said to Jace, “but this is a little much, don’t you think?”

“Not at all,” Jace responded, an icy edge to his voice. “Not when it comes to your brother. And this isn’t even all there is. There is a Shadowhunter posted about every ten feet around the entire perimeter of Alicante, twenty-four seven.”

Clary scoffed, grinning. “As if that would help. If my brother wanted to get into Alicante, none of this would stop him.”

“I could,” Jace replied, almost indignantly. “I hate him. I mean, I thought I hated Valentine. But nothing compares to the constant longing to kill Sebastian.”

Clary made a disgusted sound and stalked away from his. Jace caught up with her almost instantly, though not as quickly as he would have before she’d turned. “Clary!” he called after her. “Wait, what did I say? I though you hated him too.”

Clary sighed, annoyed that she couldn’t show how sick she was of people down-talking her brother; at least she wouldn’t have to deal with it for much longer. “I do. Just. . . Try to remember that, no matter how much I wish I could be the one to end all of this, he’s still my brother. There’s no love lost between us, don’t get me wrong. I just wish I could have had a normal brother, a normal life with him. And, because of what Valentine did. I’ll never have that. It’s just taking a while to realize that, no matter what I do, I’ll never have a brother now.” Jace looked at her pitifully and she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at ou. I probably would have said the same thing.”

Jace took one of her hands in his much larger ones. “You don’t have to apologize to me about that, Clary. I know you have no sympathy for him. I know you aren’t on his side or anything. He was your brother. You’re mourning for the life he’ll never have now. I get it.” And, Clary knew, he did. After all, Jace was alone in the world. No real family, a rapidly shrinking adopted family.

“I have to head over to the Guard,” Robert Lightwood announced when they all reached the gates. “I trust you all can find your way from here?”

Maryse nodded at him and reached to touch her husband’s arm, but he shrugged her off, turning and stepping through the gates to meet the two Shadowhunters waiting to escort him on the other side. Maryse paused for a moment, then spun around, a smile on her face, to look at the rest of her party.

“Where _are_ we staying this time, Mom?” asked Alec. “With the Penhallows again?”

“No,” said Maryse tightly, though she kept the smile. “Your father has graciously allowed you and me to reside in his house while we are here. Clary will be staying with her mother and Lucian, of course.”

“And I get to sleep in the streets with all the homeless cats?” Jace inquired sardonically. “Or maybe a greater challenge—the Brocelind forest. However did you guess what I wanted for my birthday, Maryse?”

“Jace, be quiet,” Maryse snapped, though not with her usual exasperated annoyance. If Clary didn’t know any better, she would have said that Maryse sounded almost _excited_ , like she had something hidden up her sleeve. “You will not be staying with us. You will be staying with Lucian in his new permanent residence in the city.”

“What?” Jace was so taken aback that even that simple one-word response seemed like it took sincere effort.

“Jace,” said Luke, “my sister, Amatis, was married to Stephen Herondale. Even after their divorce, Amatis inherited all the Herondale property when Stephen and Celine died. Amatis was the last member of the Herondale family after Imogen died. For most of her life, she didn’t have a will. There were no more Herondales to leave the property to and she couldn’t leave it to me, as a Downworlder. Upon her death, the property would have gone to the Clave to be put up for auction.”

“As interesting as this story is, Luke, I really don’t see—“

“Let me finish. I said that she didn’t _used_ to have a will and that the property _would_ have gone up for auction. But, a couple of months ago, my sister found something out, and she suddenly decided to leave everything in her name to one person, the only person she thought would ever have the right to the Herondale legacy.”

“Me,” Jace whispered hollowly. “She left it all to me.”

“The last of the Herondales,” Luke confirmed, a proud smile on his face.

“Are you saying that I own Amatis’s _house_?” Jace replied, flabbergasted.

“Well, not yet,” Maryse piped in. “You’re only seventeen. You won’t own it until you turn eighteen. For now, the house is in Lucian’s name. But, after you reach eighteen, you will own the house as well as anything and everything Amatis Herondale owned. This includes the house, of course, as well as the Herondale manor house outside the city."

"Manor house?" Jace replied dazedly. "I own a _manor house_?"

“Not yet,” Maryse corrected again.

“But I will? I get to live here in Idris?”

“If that’s what you want.” Maryse’s voice was heartbreaking. She had tried for an encouraging tone, but the depressed sound that had actually escaped her mouth made Clary’s heart leap. Robert was leaving the Institute in New York and wasn’t planning on returning. Isabelle was gone. And now, it seemed Jace would be leaving her too.

The smile that had been spreading across Jace’s face at the revelation that he had inherited millions of dollars’ worth of property stalled; he had heard Maryse’s sulky tone as well. “If you want me to stay in New York, Maryse, just say the word.”

Maryse smiled at him sadly. “I would never. It’s your life, Jace. Perhaps it is time for you to return home.”

“Maryse Lightwood?” Maryse turned around to face the city gates and Clary looked up as well. Two more Shadowhunter guards had approached, one of whom had spoken. “We are here to escort you and your son to the Inquisitor’s residence as soon as possible.”

Maryse’s expression showed that she was just as confused by this as everyone else. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”

“Consul’s orders. You and your family are to be escorted throughout the city during your stay.”

“May I ask why?” Maryse countered, sounding almost offended.

“The council has not forgotten what transpired last month in the Burren,” the second Shadowhunter guard informed her. “That, as well as the rest of your family’s transgressions, can not be overlooked here, for safety reasons. Surely you understand.” Even Clary didn’t like his snide tone. It was apparent by the change in Maryse’s demeanor that she didn’t either. She didn’t, however, argue with the guard.

“Very well, then. We’ll be along shortly.” The Shadowhunters waiting on her looked annoyed, but didn’t protest as she turned around to make her goodbyes with Jace, Jocelyn, Luke, and Clary.

“I’ll expect you to have them on time, tomorrow, Lucian. And Jace, _please_ do be on your best behavior tomorrow. I know it may be hard for you, but try to keep all of that snarky, sarcastic attitude hidden while you’re in the council meeting.”

“Play nice with the other kiddies,” Jace responded, nodding. “Got it.”

“Jace—“ Maryse began tiredly.

“I know,” he interrupted. “I get it. It’s important we keep up appearances this time. I promise. I’ll even look presentable.”

Maryse spared him a quick smile before turning unexpectedly to Clary. “You’ll keep an eye on him, I’m sure.”

“We all will,” Jocelyn interjected. “We have to stick together from here on out. Just like old times, right Maryse?”

“I wish you wouldn’t say it like that,” Maryse answered pointedly, though the smile remained on her face. Casting one last glance over the lot of them, Maryse’s eyes landed on Jace. “I guess this is goodbye for now. I will see you tonight, Jace. And any of the rest of you who wish to come,” she added hastily. “I know Isabelle wouldn’t want me to keep out anyone who wanted to come.”

“What’s tonight?” Clary whispered to Jace.

“The funeral,” Jace said monotonously.

Nodding, Maryse made a weak attempt at a reassuring smile before turning and starting in the direction of the guards. Alec and Jace did not speak, only nodded at each other. Clary remembered what Simon had said one time about this being some guy thing, a show of badassery or something. Usually, Clary could accept that that was the truth. But she knew this was different. Alec and Jace had known each other for a good deal of their lives; they were _parabatai_. If Clary had ever been asked who knew Jace better, the answer would have been obvious and immediate: Alec. That’s how she knew that the look the boys were sharing, the nods they gave one another, were conveying a thousand messages back and forth between the two of them. Sympathy, sadness, support, bravery. Alec put a hand on Jace’s shoulder briefly before turning to join his mother. He never cast a glance in Clary’s direction.

A few minutes later, two more guards arrived to escort Clary and the others to Amatis’s house. These two did not look as harsh as the guards that had escorted the Lightwoods, but Clary still caught the nervous glances they cast at each member of the group every so often. Not that she could blame them. They were leading a werewolf into the glass city, not to mention Valentine’s wife, daughter, and pseudo-son.

The whole walk there, Clary found her concentration slipping from Jace to how much the city had changed since the last time she was here. Jace still looked like he was in shock over receiving a whole house at such short notice. He was silent and his whole face was scrunched up in confusion and thought. The expression was almost comical on his angelic features. There was, however, nothing comical about the amount of armed Shadowhunters on guard that they passed through the city. Jace hadn’t been wrong—they were stationed all around just inside of the wards—but they were also _everywhere_ in the city. Which, given this was the Shadowhunter capital city, shouldn’t have surprised Clary. And the number of Shadowhunters really didn’t. It was the weapons belts they all seemed to be wearing, seraph blades and swords and daggers galore. Each Shadowhunter Clary passed looked tired, and it was obvious that this war against Jonathan was wearing them down. Good, she thought. Maybe then, when the time came, they’d just be ready to give up. It would certainly make things easier.

Amatis’s house was just as Clary remember from her last visit to Idris. Luke had brought her here when she was still sick from drinking the poisonous waters of Lake Lyn. It was a modest house in comparison to some of the other houses in Idris. On the main level were a kitchen with peeling yellow paint on the walls and a cozy living room with a rag rug and a fireplace, while upstairs, there were two bedrooms and a bathroom. The house was different, though. Now that Amatis was gone, it didn’t seem as warm and inviting as it had the first time.

“Why don’t you two go get some rest?” Jocelyn said. “At least for a little while. It’s going to be a long evening.”

“Jace, I’ll can get you some extra blankets for your stay on the couch,” Luke added pointedly. Jace threw his hands up.

“It’s my house and I have to sleep on the couch?”

“It’s not your house for another year, actually. And there’s only two bedrooms, so yes. Couch.”

“He could just stay in my room,” Clary suggested.

“No!” chorused Luke and Jocelyn.

“We did have to head up to the Gard in a few minutes to check in as non-Nephilim visitors,” Luke said slowly. “But now, I’m not so sure about leaving you two alone.”

“We’ll behave, Luke,” Clary promised. “Besides, everything that’s going on pretty much puts a damper on anything romantic between us.”

“Not to mention I could set the house on fire if I tried something,” Jace added helpfully. “So there’s that.” Judging from the look on Jocelyn’s face, this did nothing to ease her worry.

“We’ll be fine, Mom,” Clary insisted. “Go.” Jocelyn opened her mouth to argue, but Clary continued before she could get a word in. “Name of the Angel, Mom, I’m the good child, remember? I’m not the one who goes and kills people and kidnaps children and probably kicks every puppy he has the chance to.”

Jocelyn paled and Clary could instantly tell that the words had hit a sore spot with her mother. She didn’t care. “Clary. . .” her mother began.

“Jocelyn,” Luke spoke up. “We should go. Come on.”

Jocelyn, though reluctantly, nodded and bid goodbye to her daughter before finally leaving, Luke following close behind.

 

“Magnus?” Tessa stood outside Magnus’s apartment door, knocking haphazardly at the door. Magnus had called her a few hours earlier. He hadn’t said much, only that they needed to talk. Tessa had been skeptical about helping him, but had eventually given in at the sincere worry and stress she’d heard in Magnus’s voice. But now, she was just waiting outside his apartment, waiting for him to answer the door. Nervous after minutes of him not answering, Tessa tried the door which, to her surprise, was unlocked. Peeking her head cautiously around the doorframe, she called out into the apartment. “Magnus? It’s Tessa. Where are you?” There was no response.

Tessa opened the door the rest of the way, stepping inside and closing it behind her. “Magnus?”

A loud noise startled Tessa into silence. It sounded like something—or perhaps several somethings—nearby were being knocked over rather forcefully. Walking carefully through the apartment, Tessa listened carefully, trying to find where the sounds were coming from. Finally, the sound came again, and this time, she could tell it was coming from Magnus’s bedroom.

“Magnus?” Tessa called once more, knocking on the bedroom door briefly before stepping inside. What was strange was that, when she went inside, she found Magnus asleep on the bed. Tessa felt her face scrunch up in confusion for a moment before the picture started to come together in front of her.

First, Magnus was whispering in his sleep, tossing and turning in the bed. “Alec, no. Run. _Run,_ ” he was saying. As he was saying it, though, his fingertips flared up with bright blue flames, and the alarm clock on the nightstand began shaking violently before launching itself off the tabletop onto the floor, where it joined Magnus’s cell phone, a broken coffee mug, and a now-shattered framed picture of Alec and Magnus in the park during the fall.

“Magnus!” Tessa exclaimed, hesitant to rush to his side for fear of more flying objects. But her voice wasn’t enough to wake the warlock up. “Magnus, come on! Get up! It’s just a dream. Everything’s okay.”

“Alec,” Magnus murmured, causing the lamp on his bedside table to start shaking like the alarm clock had. Cursing very unladylike under her breath, she rushed across the room, placing one hand on the shuddering lamp to steady it and the other on Magnus’s shoulder.

“Magnus, please. You have to wake up. It’s just a nightmare. It’s alright. Wake up.” When Magnus continued his fitful sleep, Tessa bit her lip, helplessness drowning her. No amount of shoulder shaking or yelling was going to wake him out of this deep of a sleep. Finally, with a sigh, she made a split decision, standing up and whispering to Magnus. “I’m sorry about this. Please don’t kill me.” Then, with as much force as she could muster, Tessa brought her hand down across Magnus’s face hard.

At least, that’s what she’d planned to do. Suddenly, the blue-haired warlock was awake, his hands reaching out and grabbing Tessa’s arms. His eyes were wide and more afraid than Tessa had ever seen them; they looked past her unseeingly. “Oh, God,” Magnus said. “They’re dead. They’re all dead.” His breathing was coming in pants and his grip on Tessa’s arm was cutting off her circulation.

“Ow, Magnus,” she said indignantly. “You’re hurting my arm.”

Seeming to realize she was there for the first time, Magnus’s eyes locked first onto Tessa’s and then onto her wrists. He loosened his grip. “Tessa?” he asked dazedly. “What are you doing here?”

“You asked me to come here. But when I got here, you were having a nightmare. A really bad one, it seemed like. Then, I tried to wake you up, and you grabbed my arms and opened your eyes, so I guess it worked.”

“I grabbed your arms? What were you doing?” he demanded.

“”Um. . .”Tessa stuttered.

“Were you about to _slap_ me awake?” he asked incredulously.

“I was worried,” she insisted. “You were practically turning your room into a warzone.” Tessa inclined her head to the pile of objects on the floor beside Magnus’s bed. Gingerly, she picked up the picture frame, careful not to lodge any glass splinters into her fingers. “Was it about him?” she asked, handing the picture frame to Magnus.

“Was what about him?”

“The nightmare. It’s not the first time this has happened, Magnus. You’re worried about losing him, aren’t you?”

“I’m always worried about losing him,” Magnus replied hollowly, gazing down at the broken frame in his hand. “This is different, Tessa. I’m not sure I _can_ lose him. It hurts my heart to even think about.”

“What are you going to do?”

Magnus shrugged his shoulders tiredly. “I wish I knew.”

“Do you want to talk about the nightmare? About what you said when you woke up?” Magnus’s gaze turned inward as he struggled to remember the visions in his head the moments before he’d woken up. “You said ‘they’ were dead. Who were you talking about?”

Magnus’s face went slack as the memory surfaced. “Oh, my God,” he repeated. “It’s Alec. He’s in danger. All of them are.” Magnus jumped up off the bed, rushing past a confused Tessa into the living room. “I have to get to them.”

Tessa shook her head and threw her body into motion, chasing after Magnus as he rushed around the apartment, picking things up and putting them elsewhere or in bags. “Get to who? The Lightwoods? Magnus, you told me they’re in Alicante. You can’t just waltz into the City of Glass, especially not right now.”

“It’s not just the Lightwoods. It’s ever Shadowhunter alive. That’s why I need your help. Contact Brother Zachariah. He’ll let you in the city, and he’ll let me in, too.”

Tessa froze at the mention of the Silent Brother’s name. “Brother Zachariah can’t help us. He’s sworn his oath to the Silent Brotherhood, not to me. We don’t speak to each other anymore, Magnus. He can’t help either of us if he wanted. Just relax, alright? You’re overreacting. The Shadowhunters are plenty safe in Alicante within the wards—“

“The wards won’t stop him. He’s gotten by them before.”

“Who? Who are you worried about?”

Magnus stopped his frantic movements to look Tessa in the eye. “Valentine’s son is dangerous. I don’t know how I know it, but he’s planning something, Tessa. Something _huge_. And it has to do with the Shadowhunters in Alicante.”

“The Shadowhunters are well protected, Magnus, I assure you. Besides the wards, there are more Shadowhunters in Alicante than ever before. All of them, in fact.”

Magnus froze. “What do you mean _all_ of them?”

“The council meeting that’s been called commands all Shadowhunters to come to the protection of the city so that they can all stay safe while the Clave figures out the best course of action to take against Jonathan Morgenstern.”

“So they herded them all in one place? How brilliant of them. It will be like shooting fish in a barrel for Jonathan when he arrives.” Magnus sighed and ran his finger through his hair, a sign, Tessa realized, of his growing impatience for the situation. “What about the Institutes?”

“Abandoned,” Tessa admitted smally, not wanting to set off another reaction. “The Clave thinks that we can’t protect the humans until we find way to make sure the few numbers they have aren’t being picked off one by one.”

Magnus shook his head, closing his eyes in an attempt to calm himself. “I have to go, Tessa.”

Tessa bit her lip to keep from throwing out another blind protest. She’d need something especially convincing to get Magnus to back off this insane vigilante quest. However, when she opened her mouth, a winning argument was not what came out. Instead, Tessa merely said, “Fine. But I’m coming with you. I might have a place we can stay in Idris, but I don’t know how you’re going to get into Alicante.”

Magnus thought for a moment before nodding. “I think I just might.”

 

The time change between New York and Idris—a difference of six hours—was certainly taking its toll on Clary. So, when Jocelyn came to Clary up only a couple of hours after their arrival in Idris to get ready to go to Isabelle’s funeral, the coming darkness outside came as an unwelcome sight to her eyes. As Jocelyn closed the door so Clary could get dressed, Clary let her head fall into her hands, rubbing at her temples to alleviate the pain of her growing headache. She’d hoped to contact Jonathan in her short nap, but he was nowhere to be seen in her dreamless sleep.

Grudgingly, Clary stood up from the bed, smoothing out her wrinkled clothes as she strode past the luggage piled next to the bed in Amatis’s small spare bedroom, stopping in front of the dress bag draped over high-backed chair by the bedside table. When she was packing for Idris, she’d very quickly realized that she didn’t really own any clothes that could be worn to a Shadowhunter funeral. When she’d approached her mother about this, Jocelyn had seemed to be expecting it, and had produced an old dress of hers from her time in the Circle. “As you can imagine, as stupid and reckless as we were, I had to wear this quite a few times,” Jocelyn had said. The dress was simple but beautiful and, of course, fit Clary perfectly. Sliding out of her jeans and tee shirt, Clary pulled the dress on over her head carefully. She looked down, examining herself in it. She liked the way it fit her waist, how the hem wasn’t too short or too long, but rather sat perfectly at her knees. Content that the dress was fixed perfectly on her body, Clary opened her door and headed across the hall to the small bathroom to fix her hair. There was, however, already someone standing in front of the small mirror. Jace.

Clary had seen him in his mourning wear before when Jace had gone to Max’s funeral. The white jacket with the scarlet runes of mourning and grief looked exactly the same, she thought. Jace, on the other hand, looked older. His face was creased with more lines of worry and stress than it had been the last time she’d seen him in these clothes, and his eyes seemed to have aged a thousand years in just a few months. Still, Jace managed a smile for Clary as he caught sight of her out of the corner of his eyes.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured, turning to face her fully.

“I’ll have to take your word for that,” Clary responded nervously. “Haven’t really seen myself in the mirror yet.”

“I think we can fix that.” Jace held out his hand, which she took hesitantly. Pulling gently, he positioned Clary in front of him before the mirror. As she caught sight of herself, she had to stifle a gasp. The dress was definitely beautiful. The pure white was broken only by a line of mourning runes at the hem, as well as a silk scarlet sash across the midline, it too embellished with the runes of grieving. She had half expected the white to wash out her already pale skin, but the red saved the dress, even bringing out her eyes and her fiery red hair. The overall effect was almost an _innocent_ look on Clary.

“I look—“ she started.

“Like an angel,” Jace whispered in her ear, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling him gently against him. “Like my angel.”

Clary allowed her hand to reach up and cover Jace’s where it rested on her stomach. She knew he’d have become suspicious if she pushed his hand away. “I look too over the top for a funeral. I should change.”

“Clary.” Jace’s other hand reached around in front of her to clasp together with the first and he had let his chin come to rest on Clary’s shoulder. She didn’t want to turn around and ruin this moment, so she met his eyes in the mirror’s reflection. “You look fine. Besides, it’s Isabelle. If she knew you dressed down for her funeral, she might come back just to kill you.” The words tugged at Clary’s heart more than they should have, and a single tear made its way down her face. She hastily brought up her hand to wipe it away, but not before Jace noticed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Should’ve known not to say something like that.”

Clary turned around in his arms to face him, placing a hand on his chest to keep a safe distance. “It’s alright. We’re not ourselves, not right now, anyway. Let’s just get through tonight, okay?” Jace nodded, smiling at her as he brushed a stray hair out of Clary’s face.

“You two almost ready?” Jocelyn’s arrival came unannounced and scared Clary half to death. She immediately jumped out of Jace’s grip and distanced herself from him, embarrassed to have been caught in such an intimate setting by her mother.

“Yeah, just about,” Clary replied, forcing a smile.

Jocelyn smiled back. “You look beautiful, sweetheart. But. . .” Jocelyn bit back the rest of the sentence.

“What?” Clary asked, her heart speeding up. “What’s wrong?” she demanded.

“Nothing,” Jocelyn assured her. “Just. . . Are you going with your hair like that?”

Clary ran a hand through her tangled curls and sighed. “My hair. I totally forgot.”

“It’s fine. We have time. The service isn’t for another hour and a half.” Jocelyn turned her gaze to Jace as she spoke again. “We’ll just leave you to get ready, won’t we?” Her tone implied that there was no arguing with her on that note. Surprisingly, Jace actually smiled wholeheartedly at Clary’s mother, nodding his head.

“Of course, Ms. Fray,” he agreed, leaning over to peck Clary on the cheek. “Don’t keep me waiting too long,” he said finally before leaving the room.

 

Jace was no stranger to loss. At ten, he’d watched the man who’d raised him, the man he thought was his father, “murdered” right in front of him. Then, seven years later, he’d discovered that his father was alive, but not at all the man he thought he was, as was evident by the sword he put through Jace’s chest. And, just like that, his father was dead again. And, it turns out, so was his real father. And his real mother. And his little brother, and his grandmother, and his father’s ex-wife, his tutor. It was like everything he touched was given a death sentence. Somehow, he’d survived all of that. Everything.

But this had been Isabelle. She wasn’t some distant family member he’d found out about after they died. She wasn’t some helpless little kid. She was a Shadowhunter, a grand warrior that Jace had fought with most of his life, and whom he had once thought he would always have by his side going into any battle. Maybe that’s why it was harder this time. He’d always imagined that, if he ever lost Isabelle or Alec, it would be in battle, by his side. He’d always imagined he’d be there for her. But, when the time finally came, he was blocks away, completely unable to help her. And now he was at her _funeral_. The whole thing was surreal.

As their group entered the cemetery the funeral pyre came into view and he grasped Clary’s hand tight in his. He was surprised she didn’t say anything—it couldn’t have been comfortable for her. In spite of that, however, Clary managed to squeeze his hand back reassuringly.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Jace whispered to her out of the side of his mouth. The sound was barely audible, for Clary’s ears only.

“There’s nowhere else I’d want to be tonight, Jace,” she breathed back.

Before the funeral pyre was lit, any of the family or friends in attendance were welcomed to say a few words about the deceased. Maryse and Robert, unsurprisingly, went first, but they didn’t say much. Actually, Robert didn’t say anything. Instead, he stood by and let Maryse speak about her daughter. She could only manage a few sentences before the grief overcame her and she had to stop.

Next, it was Alec’s turn to speak. “Isabelle was my younger sister. I’ve known her—I’m sorry,” he stuttered, correcting himself. “I knew her for her entire life. But to say that she was my baby sister would be a disgrace to Izzy’s memory. And she’d probably be watching me right now, cursing me for saying that.

“Isabelle was one of the best fighters I knew. She was so advanced for her age. She’d seen more and fought more than anyone our age probably should have. But she was a Shadowhunter, and she bore that weight on her shoulders. She knew why she was here, and she never forgot that.” Tears were swimming in Alec’s eyes; Jace couldn’t blame him. Alec was tough, but if ever there was an exception, this was is. Thankfully, Jace had managed to keep his emotions reasonably in check, with no tears escaping his eyes. “I never imagined I’d outlive her. After all, I had the suicidal _parabatai_ always leading me into crazy situations we were lucky enough to come out of alive.” Small chuckles and giggles traveled throughout the crowd. One in particular caught Jace’s attention. He discreetly turned his head around looking for its source. He knew it was stupid and beyond impossible. But that laugh had almost sounded like— “Isabelle was the smart one most of the time, as much as I hate to admit it,” Alec continued, drawing Jace’s attention back to him. “And I know she’s listening to me right now, probably laughing that I finally admitted it. But, if there’s one thing I wish I could hear Isabelle say—“ Alec’s voice dropped to a whisper as he tried to fight back the sobs that seemed to build in his throat. He coughed twice, clearing his throat, then continued. “If there’s one thing I wish I could hear Isabelle say, it’s what she promised me she would if I lost this bet we had. And, of course, Isabelle was smarter than me and I lost that bet. I can just see her walking up to me and, in the most obnoxious voice she could manage, saying ‘I told you so.’ And there’s nothing I want more than to hear her voice, just one more time, saying those words.” Wiping his eyes hastily, Alec turned around to the funeral pyre and, with that, Isabelle’s body, wrapped ceremoniously in white silk. “Ave atque vale, Iz. Keep an eye on Max up there, okay?” Sniffling, Alec moved with slumped shoulders over to join Maryse and Robert. Now it was Jace’s turn.

Hands and knees shaking, Jace stepped out in front of everyone, turning to face them nervously. He hadn’t planned a speech, thinking he could just speak from the heart. But now, he was really wishing he had at least thought a little ahead as his heart seemed frozen. Jace swallowed past his dry throat, taking in a deep, steadying breath before he said the first thing that came to his mind.

“Isabelle Lightwood hated me from the first day she met me,” he blurted out, and was received with confused faces all around them. “Izzy was nine when I first came to the Institute at ten years old. It was right after my father had died and she had thought I would come to her looking for a shoulder to cry on. When I never did and started hanging out with Alec, she started to resent me, I think. She’d always give me this _glare_ , like she was staring right through me. She looked at me like that every time she saw me for almost a year after that.” Jace’s mouth was working of its own accord. Jace had only meant to say a few words about Isabelle’s skill as a Shadowhunter, how she was a great person, and then he would leave. He had no idea where his current train of thought would take him and, judging by his family’s faces, they didn’t either. “I think she’d still hate me now if it weren’t for Shadowhunting. Where most guys become close to their girl siblings by holding their hand when another boy breaks their heart or when you need advice on asking a girl out, Isabelle and I bonded over learning ancient languages and learning how to stick every manner of living creature with every manner of knife, sword, and mace imaginable. The earlier stuff didn’t really matter to us because, frankly, Isabelle wouldn’t just let her heart get broken. She’d stab you through yours before you even got close to dumping her. And, well, let’s face it. I never really needed relationship advice.”

Laughter traveled through the crowd, along with several rolled eyes, including those from both Alec and Clary. To his side, though, Jace heard that voice again. The impossible voice. The one he wouldn’t ever hear again. This whole speech was proof of that very fact. _Jace,_ the voice seemed to say. _Jace, can you hear me? If you can, stop making this about you!_ The voice seemed to travel on the wind but it was still that very familiar, unmistakable sound. Returning his attention to the task at hand, Jace cleared his throat and continued.

“What I mean to say is that Isabelle was strong. She was a Shadowhunter, like Alec said. In the training room, she was one of my best training partners. In battle, I trusted her with my life. She could be a really girly girl sometimes, but she always seemed to know when to put that away and when to put on the gear. She was more dedicated to being a Shadowhunter than any other girl her age I’ve ever met. And, even though I never thought it would happen like this, I think I’ve always kind of know this is how it would end. I think I always knew that she wouldn’t go down without a fight. I think anyone who knew Isabelle knew that she was a warrior at heart, and that it was in her blood. She lived as a Shadowhunter and she died like one. And I know I couldn’t be more proud of her and the live she managed to live in her time here.” It was becoming hard to swallow and Jace’s mouth was beyond dry. So, to wrap up the speech that he had ended up giving, he turned to the pyre, and spoke. “Ave atque vale, Isabelle Lightwood. My sister and a great Shadowhunter.”

As Jace stepped back into the crowd, he caught a glimpse of Maryse as she smiled and nodded at him, tears flowing freely down her face. _Nice save_ , came that voice one more time. He whipped his head around but didn’t see anything. Shaking his head, Jace decided that he was just imagining things in his strange emotional state, and he rechanneled his focus back to the next few speakers. There weren’t that many people, actually. After the family had spoken, Jocelyn and Luke spoke together about their experiences with Isabelle, and about how they knew that they owed Isabelle for saving Clary’s life as well as their own on more than one occasion. They thanked her, said the words of farewell, despite not being Nephilim technically, and then rejoined the group.

Aline Penhallow, who had also shown up tonight, had a mini-speech prepared about how, even though she’d only met Isabelle a couple of times, Isabelle had still managed to save her life. She talked about how fierce Izzy had been in the Mortal War and at the Battle of the Seventh Sacred Site. She talked about how much she would miss Isabelle and how her death was a loss to the Shadowhunters. Then, with the final words of “Ave atque vale,” Aline excused herself and returned to the small crowd.

For a moment, no one else moved forward. At first, Jace thought it was all over. But then, he saw Clary slowly making her way to the front of the crowd. Nervously, Clary scanned the crowd until she found his eyes, stopping when she found them and speaking as if it were just the two of them there.

“I’ve only been exposed to the Shadow World for a few months now. I haven’t known Isabelle for years, I haven’t watched her grown up, I haven’t watched her learn how to train. I don’t know how much like her parents she was. All I know is that Isabelle was the first Shadowhunter I ever saw. I saw her before I ever saw Jace or Alec. I remember, after that first encounter, there was only one word that kept crossing my mind when I thought about her. Lethal. She was.” Jace knew what Clary was talking about—that night at the Pandemonium club.  It was the night everything in their lives had changed. He’d never known, though, that Isabelle was the first of them she’d seen. “Before I knew her, she scared me. I think I resented her when I first met her. She was beautiful and had guys wrapped around her finger and had even charmed my best friend, Simon. And, on top of that, she was fluent in more languages than I can probably name and she could fight better than anyone I’d ever seen.

“But, over the past couple of months, I had gotten to know her pretty well. I know that she was kind hearted. I know that she always stood for what was right, no matter how hard that was. I know she loved her family and friends so much. I know that she was strong, in every sense of the word. And I know that she fought until the last second of her life. I was there when it happened. I also know that, without Isabelle Lightwood, I wouldn’t be here with you today. She protected me. I owe her everything. She was brought up as a Shadowhunter and she stood by that until the end.” Clary’s eyes, surprisingly not overflowing with tears, moved from Jace’s over to where Maryse, Robert, and Alec stood. “Isabelle saved my life, and I am forever grateful. There will not be a day that goes by for the rest of my life that I do not think of Isabelle. I know there is nothing I can say that will make you forgive me for the fact that I’m here and your daughter isn’t. But I hope that you know that I’ll never forget the sacrifice she made. I hope you know that I could never forgive myself, and I will never let her sacrifice be in vain.” Silent tears finally flowed over the edges of Clary’s eyelids. She seemed to be shaking considerably, though Jace attributed it to the brisk air in addition to her short dress. His heart hurt for Clary, it truly did. She still blamed herself for everything.

 _Please_. Great. What was with this damned voice following him? And why did _he_ seem to be the only one that could hear her? _That’s the best you can do? A couple of tears? Just shut up and let them burn the body already._

Clary turned to Isabelle’s body and murmured something to her that was inaudible to Jace. Finally, she turned to join Jace in the crowd. A moment later, final speakers were called for, but none came forward. Then, after a brief statement from the Silent Brothers, the funeral pyre was lit, and Jace didn’t hear the voice again for the rest of the night.

Walking back the way they had come, Jace held Clary’s hand, speaking to her in whispers, telling her how beautiful her speech was and that it really helped. He didn’t mention the voice he’d kept hearing through the service.

Suddenly, to Jace’s left, a flash of movement in the tree line caught his attention. He came to a stop as he turned, trying to see through the dark to determine what it was that he had seen. Clary, still holding his hand, had come to a stop as well, following his gaze for a moment before turning hers to his face. “Jace? What is it?”

Squinting, Jace thought he was able to make out a shadow about the size of an average person in the tree line. But, before he could make out any distinguishing features, the shape had disappeared. Shaking his head, he looked down at Clary. “No,” he murmured. “Just thought I saw something.”

Finally arriving back at Amatis’s house, Jace was practically carrying Clary as she had almost fallen asleep and had leaned against him for support. Once inside, Luke and Jocelyn disappeared off to bed, leaving Clary and Jace alone at the foot of the stairs.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you in the morning,” Jace said, smiling. “Couch duty, remember?”

Clary grinned sleepily. “You aren’t even going to come upstairs and say goodnight? Well, you have lost my vote for ‘Knight in Shining Armor of the Year’ award.”

“I’m pretty sure if Jocelyn or Luke caught me in your room, they’d both have a fit. I’m actually not sure which one of more. Luke turns into a lethal killing machine on command. Then again, Jocelyn has that whole ‘momma bear’ thing going on. . .”

Clary giggled at that. “You’re not really afraid of my mother.”

“No,” Jace admitted. “But I am pretty scared of you.”

“Of me?” Clary asked, surprised.

“Well, maybe not of you. It’s more I’m scared of losing you.” Jace stared down at her through his eyelashes.

Clary brought up a hand to his face, caressing it. “The only thing you have to worry about losing me to right now,” she replied, “is sleep. I’m exhausted. You know how crying can be. I’m not even sure I can make it up the stairs without passing out.”

“Well, lucky for you, I just happen to have ‘chivalrous knight’ credibility that I need help building back up.” Smirking, Jace moved swiftly, scooping Clary up into his arms with one arms underneath her knees and the other supporting her back. Clary, unsuspecting of the move, yelped quietly and threw her arms around Jace’s neck for support.

Nimbly, Jace carried Clary up the narrow stairway with ease and managed to nudge the door open with his foot, finally carefully setting Clary down on the small bed. “Thank you, my prince,” Clary muttered, her words slurring groggily.

“You know, I remember this place now,” Jace said, glancing around the room. “The last time I was here, I snuck in through the window and you let me stay the night.”

“And then I woke up and you’d gone on a suicidal mission to kill my brother and father.”

“True,” Jace reluctantly admitted.

“Maybe this time you’ll actually be here when I wake up.” Jace froze. Clary hadn’t stuttered or slurred her words this time. They were crystal clear. As was her meaning.

“Clary, we can’t.”

“I’m not asking for anything other than for you to stay with me,” Clary pleaded. “Please, Jace. Stay. Don’t leave me alone. Not after tonight. I don’t think I could handle being alone after tonight.”

Jace straightened up from Clary’s beside, running his long fingers through his golden hair. “What if they catch us?”

“So what if they do?” Clary asked exasperatedly. “We’re just sleeping. Please, Jace. I kind of need you right now. Please,” she begged, reaching out for his hand.

It was like the desperation in her voice flipped some kind of switch inside Jace’s mind. He hadn’t planned on doing it. He knew he shouldn’t. But the pleading in her voice when she’d said she needed him was breaking his heart. He knew he shouldn’t have stayed. He should have gone back downstairs to the couch, where Luke had left a blanket and pillow for him. Instead, Jace, taking a deep breath, took off his shoes and jacket before crawling into the bed beside Clary, careful not to touch her anywhere except her hand, just like the last time. Minutes later, he heard her breathing even out—she’d fallen asleep almost as soon as he had lain down beside her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand that's it. Working on the rest of the book right now. This is all I have done for now. Comments are welcome. :) Again, I know some of my grammar makes no sense and at least one scene is literally impossible in the timeline of the story, but any other constructive criticism is definitely welcome!


	16. Chapter 12: Gray

**12**

**Gray**

Even this far away from Jace, the heat from his body warmed hers and that, in addition to the pure exhaustion the day had reaped on her, had Clary asleep in a matter of seconds. As she drifted off, she thought of her brother and about the next day, the interrogation by the soul sword, and, as the real world faded away, she felt a new dream world materialize around her.

Clary blinked in the sudden sunlight that poured over her. Holding up a hand to shield her eyes, Clary pushed back the heavy comforter that was covering her, swinging her legs over a strikingly familiar bed. She turned her head to the familiar window set in the neon orange-painted wall where the bright morning sunlight was streaming through and felt a smile spread across her face. She was standing in her bedroom in the old brownstone apartment she used to live in with her mother. Before she'd decided, that week before her sixteenth birthday, to go to the Pandemonium Club. Before she'd even know that all the bedtime stories Luke used to tell her when she was younger were not only true, but far darker and scarier than she cared to think about.

"Really?" Clary gasped and jumped at the unexpected voice behind her. She'd thought she was alone. She spun around to see that it was her brother who had spoken. He looked strange in his black clothes, surrounded by the vibrant colors and Clary's own art, hung sporadically on the walls. "What is this place? It looks like a rainbow exploded in here."

Clary rolled her eyes. "It's my bedroom in Brooklyn. Or, it was. Back before everything changed. It feels like a different lifetime ago," she added, shifting her gaze from her brother to drink in the familiar sight she missed so much.

"Oh please," Jonathan griped. "Enough with the reminiscent bittersweet-ness. It's making me sick. Why did you bring me here?"

"Why are you so snippy?" Clary remarked disdainfully.

Jonathan's lips curled into a scowl. "I wasn't kidding. It really is a rainbow in here. And where there's rainbows," he said pointedly, gesturing to Clary's bed behind her. Confused, she looked over her shoulder, following his gaze. Right to where Jace slept peacefully beneath the covers. "There's always little bit of gold. Or so the stories say."

Clary silently cursed her subconscious mind for bringing Jace into the dream with her. Of course, he wasn't really there—he didn't have a bracelet like Clary's—but now Jonathan knew what was happening in the outside world. And, judging from his look of carefully controlled fury, he was not thrilled about the fact.

Clary held out her hands imploringly. "Jonathan, listen to me. Give me a chance to explain. Whatever you do, _don't_ overreact."

Clary's brother laughed harshly. "Overreact? Please, dear sister, tell me what the proper reaction to this would be." He held up a hand as she prepared to come back with a snappy remark. "Don't answer that. Just tell me what the hell you were thinking."

"I was thinking I didn't wasn’t to be _alone,_ " Clary defended desperately. "I told you, my old self has been coming through lately. I'm feeling guilty about Isabelle and when Jace dragged me to the funeral, that guilt almost _ate me alive_. Do you know how hard I had to fight just to keep myself from looking into Maryse and Robert's eyes, into Jace and Alec's eyes, and not tell them every single little detail about how their daughter _really_ died in that alley? I was exhausted by the time we got back and I just didn't want to be alone." As Jonathan seemed to digest this, Clary huffed and mumbled under her breath. "I'm surprised you aren't proud of me for keeping the enemy close."

Rage flared in her brother's eyes and, in mere milliseconds, Jonathan had her pinned up against her bedroom wall, her arms held uselessly at her side. "This is not a joke, Clarissa," he hissed. "You are loyal to me and only me. You _belong_ to _me_."

Clary wriggled under her brother's grasp, to no avail. "Jonathan," she gasped. "Let me go. You're hurting me."

"No. I'm not," he remarked. "Dream, remember? You can't feel anything here, no matter what your mind is telling you. Though I sincerely wish I _could_ slap some sense into you right about now."

"Why? I can't believe you're mad at me—"

"Oh, for sleeping with another guy? You're absolutely right. Why would I take offense to something like that?"

"Nothing happened! We were just _sleeping_. It's not like I _could_ have done something if I wanted to, Jonathan, not with his heavenly fire just barely under control. I just didn’t want to be alone, I told you. Do you know how hard it is to be around Shadowhunters all day, every day, for the past few days? Knowing that, if any of them knew the truth, they'd kill me without hesitation? I was getting nervous, surrounded by a city of Shadowhunters looking for your inside man. I knew Jace would protect me blindly, so I'm sticking as close as I can to him for the foreseeable future. I’m just hoping he'll still protect me after my testimony tomorrow."

"Why?" Jonathan asked, releasing his hold on her wrists. "What testimony?"

Clary rubbed her wrists, avoiding her brother's icy gaze as she spoke. "The Clave want me to tell them what happened to Isabelle. In detail."

"So?" He shrugged, unconcerned. "Just tell them the same thing you told the others."

"It's not that simple," Clary explained. She hesitated to continue, but feeling Jonathan's glare burning into her skin, she finished. "They want me to testify by the Mortal Sword," she confessed.

Jonathan's face contorted into an expression of outrage. "Why did you wait until now to tell me?" he demanded. "If you'd told me earlier, I might have been able to do something, but I can't get to you now. There isn't enough time!"

"I tried to tell you. I only found out yesterday morning after I woke up and I haven't had a chance to talk to you since. What am I going to do? There's no lying under Maellartach. I've been interrogated by it before."

"This could be bad, Clary," Jonathan admitted, running his hand across his mouth thoughtfully.

“I know,” she agreed cautiously.

“I mean, this really _could_ be bad,” he repeated and, if Clary didn’t know any better, she would say that Jonathan’s hand was covering up a smile by the smug tone of his voice as he spoke. “If you were a _Shadowhunter_.”

It took Clary a moment to respond. “Wait. . . What?”

Her brother dropped his hand, clapping it against the other as he burst into laughter. He’d been playing her, she realized. “You should have seen your face! You were seriously worried for a minute there.”

Clary slapped her brother’s arm indignantly, only causing him to laugh harder. “What are you, seven? You want people to fear you. If they could only see how you were when you weren’t plotting world domination.”

Jonathan ignored her comment. “To be fair, dear sister,” he said, laughter subsiding but a huge grin still plastering his face. “You really should have figured it out sooner. You aren’t a Shadowhunter anymore. The blade’s powers don’t have an effect on you.”

“You couldn’t have told me that from the beginning? You are such a conniving—“

“”Oh, really? You’re going to call _me_ names? Accuse me of being manipulative? This coming from my perfect angel of a sister, of course. Need I remind you that you were planning on keeping your rendezvous with Jace a secret from me? It’s a good thing your subconscious mind is still loyal to me and revealed your little secret.”

“I _am_ loyal to you, Jonathan. Why else would I have contacted you to ask for your help?”

“I’m sensing there’s a ‘but’ coming somewhere in the near future of this conversation.”

“No. No ‘buts’ here.”

“Regrettably,” Jonathan muttered almost inaudibly. Clary supposed she’d walked right into that one and shrugged it off. She picked up her brother’s hand in her own.

“I will always be loyal to you. I love you, Jonathan.”

“Clary? Jonathan? Where are you? Breakfast is almost ready!” The voice, unmistakable as Jocelyn’s flooded into Clary’s bedroom through the open door.

“We’re in here, Mom!” Clary found herself saying. “Just a minute!” Jonathan looked quizzically at Clary as she called out to their mother. “What?” Clary demanded, catching his gaze.

“I just find it interesting that she called my name and managed to say it without sounding like her words were dripping battery acid. It was as if she really cared about me. God, now I’m sure this is a dream.”

“I always have dreams like this,” Clary explained. “I always have, ever since I found out I had a brother. The what-ifs. What if Valentine hadn’t changed us, what if Mom had found you and brought you here with me when we were younger. I think about it all the time.”

 “Do you wish it had never happened? Is life really that bad?”

Clary bit her tongue before answering. A part of her desperately wanted to shout at him to look around and see all the damage he’d done in a few short months and then dare to ask her the same question again. But, she decided, that part of her came from deep down, a part of herself that she probably shouldn’t listen to. Instead, she shrugged nonchalantly, though she took great care in forming her response. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not like we could change the past if we wanted to anyway, right? And our past is what let us find each other, so I guess it’s not all bad.”

Jonathan, though clearly not convinced, nodded. He sighed and looked up at impassively. “You said you loved me a minute ago, Clary. Did you mean it?”

That took Clary by surprise. “What? Where did--?”

“Just answer me. Do you love me?”

“Of course,” she answered slowly, shaking her head. “You’re my brother and I’ll always love you.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“And you know how I feel about you,” she replied, reaching an arm around his neck and pulling him into a kiss. A kiss which he broke almost immediately, pushing Clary away reluctantly. He laughed harshly directly in her face and she scowled at him. “What’s so funny?”

“One sip of blood. That’s all it took. You love me because I _command_ that you love me. It’s kind of sad, really.”

“Are you always this much of an ass?”

“Pretty much. But I have to ask you: would you ever have loved me without the cup? Just out of curiosity.” He spoke calmly, but there was some urgency to his voice that Clary couldn’t place.

“It doesn’t matter,” Clary snapped. “The past is the past, Jonathan, I told you that. We can’t change it. I will never be the girl I used to be, so I guess we’ll never have to worry about the answer. I love you now, and I trust you.” She laughed shortly. “Why isn’t that enough for you?”

Jonathan had opened his mouth, ready with some rapid-fire sting of curse words or something equally as hurtful, but they heard Jocelyn’s voice in the hall right outside the room, calling for them. “Guys? Come on, you’re going to be late!” Clary’s mother appeared in the bedroom doorway, her messy, unruly hair held up in a loose bun by a sketch pencil. “Her eyes passed from Clary to Sebastian, where they lingered, her smile slipping. “What are you wearing, sweetheart?”

Jonathan looked confused and was about to answer honestly, but Clary cut in first. “He found it at that thrift shop down on seventh. Well, I picked it out. He thinks he looks ridiculous. I think it makes him look more badass.” Jocelyn seemed to ease up with the explanation. Jonathan might not have noticed the tension in their mother’s shoulders that had built up as soon as she’d seen her son in Shadowhunter gear. In this alternate world, Jocelyn had been hiding her past and heritage from both her kids for as long as either of them could remember. And, to avoid this becoming a nightmare, she had to let her mother think nothing had changed. Clary turned around to cast a glance at her alarm clock—barely noticing at the time that Jace had at some point disappeared from the bed—before turning back to her mom. “And we’re going to have to leave now if we don’t want to be late.” Clary grabbed her messenger bag off the floor, also picking up a black backpack she assumed was Jonathan’s and threw it at him, dragging him out of the room after her.

“What about breakfast?” Jocelyn called as Clary and her brother stepped through the front door.

“We’ll grab something at Java Jones when we meet up there with Simon,” Clary yelled back as she pulled the door shut behind her.

“What are you doing?” Jonathan demanded, pulling his arm away.

“This is still my dream. If I don’t go along with things in my dreams, it turns into a nightmare, something I’m trying to avoid,” Clary answered, walking downstairs and passing Madame Dorothea’s closed door as she left the apartment and stepped out into the chilly winter’s day outside.

“Do you get those often?” Jonathan asked as they stepped carefully down an icy sidewalk. “The dreams you turn into nightmares?”

Clary shrugged her shoulders dismissively; she really didn’t like recounting the creepy dreams. “Only when they’re about you and me. I’ve been getting them for months, but they’re so much worse sense we got home from the Burren. It’s like every time I close my eyes. . .” She didn’t finish the sentence. Jonathan seemed to think about this for a moment before asking her a question.

“The day you drank from the Dark Cup, you had just woken up from a nightmare. And then you asked me if I ever thought about what our lives could have been. Is that why you asked me those things?”

“Yes,” Clary replied softly. “But I really don’t want to talk about it.” Jonathan, surprisingly, honored her wish, and silence fell between the two of them as they walked down the next two blocks. Finally, Clary couldn’t take it anymore, and asked her brother the first thing that came to her mind. “Jonathan, can I ask you something?”

He smiled his devilish grin and she wondered if he ever smiled in a way that wouldn’t make small children scream. “Why do I feel like my answer will have absolutely no effect on your decision to ask your question?” Catching Clary’s nervous expression, his voice softened a little, though she could definitely hear notes of suspicion married with the concern. “What’s bothering you?”

Clary bit her lip hesitantly, then answered. “Please don’t get mad at me for asking this. You know I trust you and I will follow your decisions to the end, whether I survive the end or not. But I have to ask: what do you want with Shadowhunter kids?”

Clary’s brother stopped walking down the busy sidewalk and yanked her by the arm off into a side alley. In her head, she couldn’t help but wonder what it was her brother liked so much about deserted alleys in the city. “What do you know about that?”

“Nothing much,” she replied assuredly. “Just that you’ve been taking Shadowhunters from institutes all across the world. I know you’ve got the Clave so freaked out that nearly every Shadowhunter not needed to protect the wards are in Alicante. And I know that you only take the younger children in the abductions. I just don’t understand why. Why are you kidnapping them instead of killing them? And why just the kids?”

Jonathan took a second to absorb all she said before he answered. “Clary, when Valentine had his stupid little Circle, do you know why he wanted the Mortal Cup so badly?”

“Because he wanted to make a new race of Shadowhunters, loyal to him instead of the Clave.”

“Just as I am. And I need the children to do that, just as Valentine did.”

“Why? I mean, I’ve seen you use the Infernal Cup on full grown men. It worked just fine, didn’t it?”

“At first, yes. But those Shadowhunters had been warriors of the Angel too long. Their runes, the amount of heavenly fire running through their veins is actually preventing the demon blood from taking full effect. They eventually started questioning my judgment, fighting back. I had to get rid of nearly all of my surviving originals.”

“But unmarked children wouldn’t have that heavenly fire in their blood. The demonic power could take over and make them truly Dark Nephilim.”

“Now you get it.”

“Almost. But Valentine went after mundane kids. Why didn’t you?’

“Humans can’t survive the process. Remember the babies Lilith was experimenting on when she brought me back?” Clary shuddered at the thought, but nodded. “The human body has a way of fighting off a direct transition into a Dark Shadowhunter. It’s like they’re fighting a really bad infection and then losing. Shadowhunters, on the other hand, are stronger and healthier and more resilient than mundanes. It helps that children’s minds are so easily influenced. And, as an added bonus, Shadowhunter kids are trained in combat from relatively young ages.”

“What about the Blackthorn Institute? What happened there?”

“I was kind of hoping you hadn’t heard about that.” If Clary didn’t know for a fact her brother could never sound bashful, she would have said that’s exactly what he sounded like right then.

“What happened? And why did you take the oldest Blackthorn kid? He already had runes, I’m sure.”

“Yes, but not too many. He hasn’t seen very many battle, you know. And I don’t have to tell you all my plans, dear sister.”

“I know,” Clary replied quickly. “I was just curious.”

“Careful. Curiosity can be dangerous. And the less you know, the better. Let’s just say there was more than one target in that Institute.”

Clary nodded, then finally asked a question that had begun nagging at her. “You said the heavenly fire from the rune of those Shadowhunters, they counteracted the blood from the Infernal Cup. Is that what’s happening to me? The angel blood and the heavenly fire from the runes—“

“Make you susceptible to my influence, yes. But it gets worse when you get loads of power and heavenly fire thrown into your body when your _boyfriend_ burns you.”

“That’s why you were worried about seeing me in bed with Jace?” Clary commented wildly. “You were afraid that we’d. . . Well, done enough that the heavenly fire had cleansed my body of the demon blood.”

“And here you thought that I was being jealous. You can’t blame me for wondering, though, can you?”

“That’s completely ridiculous, Jonathan. Listen to me: he is a _tool_. Protection for me and that’s it. And if it seriously make you this uncomfortable to stay with him, I’ll end it. I’ll end everything between us, I promise.”

“You’d do that? Leave your golden boy because it would make me happy.” he replied skeptically.

“Of course. I swear, it’s like you don’t trust me sometimes.”

“Dear sister, I trust no one. It keeps me alive.” Clary laughed and rolled her eyes at his paranoia. “Now, my plans are coming along ahead of schedule, so be ready. Soon you’ll know what we’ve been working for. For now, I do believe you have a court date. Might as well get your beauty sleep.” Clary closed her eyes as Jonathan dropped a brief kiss on her forehead. When she opened them again, her brother had disappeared from the dreamscape, right as she heard Simon’s voice calling her name from down the street.

 

When Clary woke up the next morning, the rest of the house was already up and moving. She heard pots and pans clanging in the small kitchen downstairs as the smells of breakfast, mouth-watering and inviting, wafted in through the open bedroom door. She noticed, almost sadly, that Jace had apparently awoken before her, leaving her alone in the small bed in Amatis’s guest room.

“Good morning,” Jocelyn said chipperly, placing a plate of food in front of Clary. “I was about to come wake you up myself. You slept in for a long time. Are you sleeping okay?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Clary responded, not adding on that she would be feeling a lot more rested if her brother didn’t invade her dreams ever night. “What time is it? And where’s Luke?”

Luke spoke up as he stepped into the kitchen, kissed Jocelyn on the nose, and sat down next to Clary at the table. “Don’t worry. You aren’t late for the council meeting. I’m sure Jocelyn would have had a fit if you were late.”

Biting off a piece of bacon, Clary let her tense shoulders relax. “Thank the angel for that. I suppose they’d think I was hiding something if I didn’t show up.” She cast a glance around, waiting for the house’s other occupant to walk in at any moment, making some comment about everyone starting without his snarky and obnoxious self.

“He’s already gone,” Luke said, catching her gaze as he bit into a piece of toast. “He was heading over to the Lightwood’s early so that he could see them before they went to the Council meeting. He said he’ll meet us there.”

Clary nodded as she chewed thoughtfully. She wished Jace had waited for her to wake up before he left. At the same time, she was grateful that this new development had given her until at least after the council meeting to figure out how to break up with Jace. “You’re going to be there today, right, Luke?”

“We both are,” he amended, indicating himself and Jocelyn. “I’m still a council member for now. And Jocelyn—“

“Is your mother,” Jocelyn finished, as if she thought she wouldn’t have to explain herself, but also expected someone to contradict her. “The Mortal Sword is no laughing matter. There is no way in Hell that I am leaving you to face that alone again.”

“I’ve testified by it before, Mom,” Clary reasoned. “You don’t have to be there.”

“This time is different. You’re going to tell the council every single detail you can manage about Isabelle’s death. It’s going to be much harder this time. And you shouldn’t have to face that alone.’ Jocelyn’s eyes flickered and her hand flew to her stomach, her face contorting into a grimace as her other hand reached out to grab the counter.

“Jocelyn?” Luke asked concernedly. “Are you alright?”

Clary’s mother nodded, looking up at him with a smile, erasing the traces of pain from a moment ago. “I’m fine, I promise.”

“Mom, you’ve been sick for days. You shouldn’t have even come to Idris. You need to go to the doctor, not a council meeting.”

“No—“

“Clary’s right, Jocelyn. You need to see someone. If not back home, than at least a healer in the city.”

“I told you two, I’m fine!” Jocelyn protested fiercely. “Clary, go upstairs and get ready. I need to talk to Luke alone for a moment.”

“But—“

“Now, Clarissa,” Jocelyn instructed.

Confused, Clary obeyed and retreated upstairs to shower and change into the clothes she had set aside for today’s meeting—a white blouse with a black sweater and faded jeans. She hoped the whole ensemble would give off vibe of innocence. When she returned to the kitchen about an hour later, she found Luke standing alone, Jocelyn nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s mom?” Clary asked and Luke looked up just how noticing her entrance.

“Resting. She’s decided to stay here until we can arrange for a warlock to come to the house.”

“She _decided_?” Clary replied knowingly.

“Well, I convinced her.”

“Is she okay, Luke?” Clary asked, barely able to mask the real concern she was feeling.

Luke smiled at her, stepping around the table he stood behind and putting a hand on her shoulder. “I think she’s going to be just fine. She just needs rest. Don’t worry, kiddo.”

Clary looked at Luke’s smile, his eyes holding a secret she couldn’t quite unlock. “Luke, what aren’t you two telling me?”

Luke shook his head. “Like I said, Clary. Don’t worry about it.”

Clary nodded reluctantly, searching for a subject change. “What did you mean earlier,” she finally said, “when you said that you were still on the council ‘for now’?”

Sighing, Luke leaned against the table. “The Shadowhunters are getting antsy. Everyone knows it. They think that the Downworlders are a liability, that we won’t remain loyal in the event in a war. They think we’re ready to jump ship and leave them, even fight against them. So, there’s talk in the Clave about removing the Downworlders from the council, at least until the war’s over.”

“That’s crazy,” Clary replied softly, trying to keep her enthusiasm hidden—if the Clave was already turning against the few allies it already had, then perhaps that meant they weren’t too far away from turning against one another. “After all the Downworlders did in the Mortal War, shouldn’t they be looking for a way to use them against Jonathan?”

“The alliance we have has never been an easy one, Clary. The Shadowhunters are scared and don’t know who to trust. Can you blame them?”

“I guess not.”

“Come on,” Luke said quietly, straightening up and grabbing his coat off the back of one of the dining room chairs. “We should get going.”

 

“Jace!” Clary called, seeing him across the room as she entered the Hall of Accords. The blond boy turned to greet her with a smile.

“Hey,” he said when she reached him in the dense crowd of Shadowhunters.

 “Hey,” she replied, avoiding the arm he tried to put around her shoulders. “You kind of disappeared this morning.”

“I didn’t want to have Luke or Jocelyn catch us together, so I woke up early and got out before anything went wrong. Funny thing is, I’m not sure which one I’d be more scared of: the werewolf alpha or the momma bear. Both seem equally vicious.” Clary just laughed. “Speaking of momma bear, where’s your mother? I thought she was coming with you and Luke.”

“She’s not feeling well.” The silence between them was made bearable by the swell of voices surrounding them. “What are we waiting for?” Clary finally asked.

“I’m not sure. Something must be a larger priority to the Consul than showing up in time to a meeting she called.” Jace’s tone was bitter.

 “Are you alright?” Clary inquired. Not that she really cared. But Jace’s attitude seemed like it was being fueled by some dark hatred and it made her worried that maybe it was being directed towards her.

“Robert was being sworn in this morning,” he answered, not looking down at her. “The Inquisitor of the Shadowhunter Council,” he continued plainly unenthusiastically. “We’re so proud.”

“You don’t sound too thrilled. Isn’t it an honor to serve or whatever?”

“Honor?” Jace scoffed harshly. “There’s no honor in abandoning your wife and your one remaining child just _days_ after your only daughter died. There’s no honor in that, Clary. Only cowardice.”

Clary was overwhelmed with the urge to comfort him despite herself, but she didn’t get the chance to say another word. At that moment, the roar of the crowd began to lessen as all the Shadowhunters turned to the slightly raised stage at the front of the room. There, the Clave's highest ranking officials were beginning to file onto the stage, including Consul Penhallow, followed closely by a familiar face—the newly-appointed Inquisitor Robert Lightwood. Behind these two came a Silent Brother, one Clary didn't recognize. And in his hands, this brother carried with him the soul sword, which he placed on a large wooden table near the back of the stage. While the council members took their places around the stage—some in chars and others, like Robert Lightwood, next to the table on which the Mortal Sword lay—Jia Penhallow moved to the tall podium, front and center.

"Attention!" she called. "Shadowhunters, please come to attention. I call this meeting of the Shadowhunter's Council to order." The crowd fell silent as the Consul, wrapped in the traditional council robes, shifted the papers in from of her, taking her time before making her first announcement. "Our first matter of business today," she said, reading from her notes, "is the testimony of the representative from the Blackthorn Institute. Council member Helen Blackthorn, please step forward."

Helen. The girl Clary had met in New York. The girl who had fought to keep finding Jace and her brother as the Clave's first priority. She was Mark's sister. The crowd to Clary's left shuffled and parted and Clary turned slightly to see the familiar blonde girl step before the rest of the Shadowhunters, wearing not the customary robes, but an ill-fitting white dress, trimmed with the red runes of mourning and sorrow. _Of course_ , Clary remembered. _Her father and step mother died in the attack on their Institute._

"Ms. Blackthorn," Consul Penhallow addressed her warmly. "Your representative is ready for his testimony, I trust?"

"Yes, Consul." Helen didn't really sound nervous, but her voice was tight with some emotion. Anxiety or sadness or a mixture of them both, Clary couldn't tell the difference.

"Thank you. We shall proceed as planned, then. The council calls Julian Blackthorn before us, so that he may recount for us the events that transpired at the Los Angeles Institute." There was a moment of silent waiting, but no movement from the crowd. "Julian Blackthorn?" the Consul repeated, louder.

"Consul Penhallow," Helen piped in. "Allow me to go find him. After what happened to our Institute and our parents, I'm afraid Julian is a bit. . . Off. I'm sure he means no disrespect to you or any of the Council. He's probably just forgotten, lost track of time."

Jia smiled and nodded her head understandingly. "Of course, Helen. Please. Bring him before the Council for us." With those words, Helen turned and hurriedly made her way through the crowd."

"Won't he be in trouble?" Clary asked Jace.

"His parents were just murdered, his oldest brother was kidnapped, and he had to fight off a group of Endarkened Nephilim to protect his younger siblings. I think the council is willing to give leniency to any twelve year old that's capable of surviving something like that."

A moment later, Helen had returned; she was walking slowly now, and carefully, her hand on the back of a thin boy with a mop of wavy brown hair. He couldn’t have been older than twelve, and Clary recognized him immediately. Helen, her hand firmly clamped around the wrist of a younger boy whose hands were covered with blue wax. He must have been playing with the tapers in the huge candelabras that decorated the sides of the nave. He looked about twelve, with an impish grin and the same wavy, bitter-chocolate hair as his sister.

Jules, Helen had called him. Her little brother.

The impish grin was gone now. He looked tired and dirty and frightened. Skinny wrists stuck out of the cuffs of a white mourning jacket whose sleeves were too long for him. In his arms he was carrying a little boy, probably not more than two years old, with the same wavy brown hair that he had; it seemed to be a family trait. The rest of his family wore the same borrowed mourning clothes: following Julian was a brunette girl about ten, her hand firmly clasped in the hold of a boy the same age: the boy had a sheet of tangled black hair that nearly obscured his face. Fraternal twins, Clary guessed. After them came a girl who might have been eight or nine, her face round and very pale between brown braids.

The misery on their faces cut at Clary’s heart. She thought of her power with runes, wishing that she could create one that would soften the blow of loss. Mourning runes existed, but only to honor the dead, in the same way that love runes existed, like wedding rings, to symbolize the bond of love. You couldn’t make someone love you with a rune, and you couldn’t assuage grief with it, either. So much magic, Clary thought, and nothing to mend a broken heart.

“Julian Blackthorn,” said Jia Penhallow, and her voice was gentle. “Step forward, please.”

Julian swallowed and handed the little boy he was holding over to his sister. He stepped forward, his eyes darting around the room. He was clearly scouring the crowd for someone. His shoulders had just begun to slump when another figure darted out onto the stage. A girl, also about twelve, with a tangle of blond hair that hung down around her shoulders: she wore jeans and a t-shirt that didn’t quite fit, and her head was down, as if she couldn’t bear so many people looking at her. It was clear that she didn’t want to be there — on the stage or perhaps even in Idris — but the moment he saw her, Julian seemed to relax. The terrified look vanished from his expression as she moved to stand next to him, her face ducked down and away from the crowd.

“Julian,” said Jia, in the same gentle voice, “would you do something for us? Would you take up the Mortal Sword?”

Clary sat up straight. She had held the Mortal Sword: she had felt the weight of it. The cold, like hooks in your skin, dragging the truth out of you. You couldn’t lie holding the Mortal Sword, but the truth, even a truth you wanted to tell, was agony.

“They can’t,” she whispered. “He’s just a kid —“

“He’s the oldest of the kids who escaped the Institute,” Jace said under his breath. “They don’t have a choice.”

Julian nodded, his thin shoulders straight. “I’ll take it.”

Robert Lightwood passed behind the podium then and went to the table. He took up the sword and returned to stand in front of Julian. The contrast between them was almost funny: the big, barrel-chested man and the lanky, wild-haired boy.

Julian reached a hand up and took the sword. As his hand closed around the hilt, he shuddered, a ripple of pain that was quickly forced down. Emma, behind him, started forward, and Clary caught a glimpse of the look on her face — pure fury — before Helen caught at her and pulled her back.

Helen quickly whispered something into Emma's ear and, though Clary couldn't hear it from this far away, it must have done the trick. Emma's shoulders slumped as she watched Julian with a pitiful expression.

"Now we will begin," Jia announced, and Robert Lightwood wasted no time before jumping into the questioning.

"Is your name Julian Blackthorn?"

"Yes," Julian gasped, his face scrunching up in pain.

"You hail from the Los Angeles Institute?"

"Yes, I do."

And you are the son of Arthur Blackthorn and Abigail Blackthorn, née Whitelaw?"

"I was. But they died." Julian's voice was tight and his eyes were shining with unshed tears.

"Were you present the day your Institute was attacked, the day your parents were killed?"

"Yes."

"Julian, please recount to the council the events of that day, starting from the time you realized you were under attack up until the arrival of the Clave's reinforcement Shadowhunters."

There was a moment before Jules continued when it seemed as if the whole room was holding their breaths. Finally, Julian took a deep breath, and began. "We were in the library. Me and Emma. Mom was teaching us about the _parabatai_ ritual because Emma and me are taking the oath soon. My dad was with the younger kids in the training room, teaching them about seraph blades and other weapons. Mark was helping Dad with demonstrations or something, I think.

"Emma and I were in the middle of practicing the oath when Dad came rushing into the library. He had on a weapons belt with as many daggers and seraph blades as he could carry, and then he had a huge sword strapped over his shoulder. The younger kids were behind him and they looked really shaken up. Then Mark came in and slammed the door shut behind him, bracing himself against it like he was afraid someone was going to break it down.

"Mom kept asking what was going on, and Dad explained as he was handing her a weapons belt he'd brought her. The Institute was being invaded. He'd called in extra Shadowhunters from the Clave, but none of them were actually nearby, and it would take at least half an hour for them to get there. He told Mark to get the other kids, including Emma and me, into the safe room my family had built behind one of the bookcases. Then, Mom and Dad left. They said they were trying to draw attention away from the library so that we'd have a better chance. But there was this look in Mom's eyes when she looked at all of us and said goodbye. . . I don't think either of them expected to see us again." A small noise caught Clary's ear, and she looked over to see that the small Blackthorn children were crying almost silently to themselves as they had to relieve this story. She almost felt bad for them.

"Anyway, after they were gone, Mark sealed the door with as many runes as he could think of and then he opened the door to the safe room. We were lucky—it had enough room for all of us and, once locked, it could only be opened from the inside. We got Tibbs and Livvy and Dru in right away, then the others. But then we heard something hitting the Library door. The runes were strong, we knew, but we didn't know what was coming, much less if they would be able to break in. We didn't even know who they were outside those doors. Mark yelled at me and Emma to get in and seal the door, and then he took his bow and climbed up into the rafters for a vantage point. Emma and I were about to close the panic room door when the library door basically exploded off it's hinges.

"Our safe room is in the corner of the room so, even before the door was sealed, the people didn't notice us. And they were. They were just _people_. Not demons or Downworlders. People. A bunch of them came in, looking around for a second, but they didn't see us or Mark. Then one of the guys talked. He was different from the others. Not really built like a warrior or even menacing looking. And his hair was so blond it almost looked _white_." Clary stiffened slightly, recognizing that this little boy was talking about her brother. Luckily, Jace didn't notice the slight change in the way she held herself next to him. "He hadn't just come to a random room, either. He was after someone in particular. But it wasn't us.

"He started calling out for my brother Mark. 'Come out, come out, wherever you are,' he said. His voice was so annoying and obnoxious, trying to egg Mark on. I wanted to punch him in the face. 'Mark? I know you're in here. I'm surprised you haven't started shooting yet. You must be _itching_ for the chance.' That's when the arrows started flying.

"Mark took out a couple of the guy's men right away before he jumped down and loosed a couple more arrows, each one hitting its target. Then he shot at the white-haired guy. But he missed. No, not missed. Mark _never_ missed. The buy _caught_ the arrow just two inches away from his face. 'Good reflexes. Mommy and Daddy weren't quite so fast. Well, at least Daddy and Step-Mommy. When was the last time you saw your _real_ mother, I wonder?' Mark threw himself at the jerk, but the other guy stepped aside and let him fall.

"'What do you know about my mother?' Mark screamed at him.

"'I know she's the reason this is happening to you. Well, part of the reason. You see, Mark, parents aren't reliable. No matter what you do, they always leave you alone in the world. They always, eventually, _abandon_ you. You and I are just alike. Our mothers gave up on us, they didn't care enough to watch us grow up. The difference is, I think your mother left to protect you. Which means that she cared about you, probably still does. Which means that you're the prime candidate to be the leverage I need here.'"

"Mark jumped up at him again, but the guy's backup held him back. 'What are you talking about?' he yelled. But the other guy didn't answer. I guess he gave one of the guys holding Mark a signal or something, because they hit him and he just collapsed.

"I couldn't just watch anymore. I started to jump up but Emma held me back. From the look in her eyes, I could tell that she wouldn't let me fight alone. So we both bragged a couple of weapons from the stash in the safe room and then sealed it up, with us on the outside. We jumped up and went at it with the guys who had broken in, but neither of us could get to the blond guy or Mark. They'd disappeared. I know Emma got a pretty nasty graze form a dagger, but we were holding our own.

"It seemed like hours later—though I know it was only a few minutes—when the other Shadowhunters showed up. Emma and I had been getting so tired, I thought for a minute that we were going to die along with my parents. But we made it out alive. The Shadowhunters captured most of the bad guys, but a few of them got away, along with Mark and the blond guy." Jules let out a heavy sigh as his testimony came to a close. "And that's it. That's what happened."

"Thank you, Julian," Jia said politely. "You may leave now."

Carefully, Robert retrieved the sword from Julian's hands, the boy's shoulders sagging with relief as the heavy burden was lifted from his arms.

"The council will now review your actions, Julian, as well as those of the rest of the Institute's inhabitants. Thank you for your testimony."

Jules's whole body looked tired, but he managed a smile as Emma stepped forward and put a hand on his arm. "And now I must ask all non-council members, including the children, to leave the room as the council speaks. You may return when the verdict is to be delivered."

Clary didn't understand. "I thought they wanted us here," she whispered to Jace as he let them through the crowd, his hand thankfully touching only her sweater and not burning through to her skin with heavenly fire. "Why would they bring us here if we weren't going to watch the actual council session?"

"I'm not sure," Jace answered dismissively as they passed through the doors at the side of the room that let into a small hallway. "Maybe they just want to keep track of the trouble-maker kids?" he posited sarcastically. "We do have a reputation for upsetting things when it comes to the Clave."

"They want us here to scare us," said a voice behind them, and Clary saw Emma standing behind them with Julian, the other four Blackthorn children surrounding him. "They want us to know how crazy that Sebastian guy is so that we won't hesitate to kill him if we get another chance."

Jace, to Clary's immense surprise, held out his hand to the girl, smiling widely. "Jace Lightwood," he introduced himself. "This is my girlfriend, Cl—"

"Clarissa Morgenstern," Emma interrupted. "I know who you two are. You guys are, like, famous, you know." Emma stared awestruck at them—though mostly at Jace—as she shook hands with them.

"Famous?" Clary replied skeptically. "That's a bit of an exaggeration, isn't it?"

"You and the whole Lightwood Institute are _legendary_ , Clary. It's like you guys are the only ones who are really dedicated to getting rid of Sebastian as much as we are. Plus, Jace is a legend all by himself. He's one of the best Shadowhunters of all time." There was admiration in Emma's voice as she spoke, like a girl talking about her favorite rock star. Which, come to think of it, she guess Jace lightwood _was_ in the Shadow World.

"Well," Jace told her confidingly, in a voice almost like a big brother's. "If you're the Emma Carstairs I keep hearing about, I think you might be about to steal my thunder."

"Really?" Her face lit up at the compliment.

"Oh, yeah. Totally!" Clary couldn't help smiling. He seemed so sincere and in his comfort zone around these younger kids. Then she remembered that Jace used to have a little brother who wasn't that much younger than these children. Of course he knew what to say to make them happy even in the worst of situations. "You're way better than I ever was at twelve. _And_ you fought off Dark Nephilim. You should be proud." Emma smiled even wider, if it was even possible, and nodded graciously, a rosy blush spreading across her face. Jace turned to look at the rest of the kids. "So, who's who in your little army?"

Emma pointed to each as she answered, starting with the fraternal twins from earlier. "This is Livia and Tiberius, but you can call them Livvy and Tibbs. They're both ten." Next, she pointed to the young, round-faced girl from before. "This is Drusilla. She's eight, and you can call her Dru. And this," she continued, pointing to the sleepy-looking toddler in Dru's arms, "is Octavius. He's only one."

"Nice to meet you all," Jace said, acknowledging them politely, to which he received "hello"s with varying levels of enthusiasm. "And you," Jace continued, addressing the boy they'd seen on the stage a moment ago, "are Julian Blackthorn, right?" Julian nodded silently, not catching Jace's gaze. "Well, it's great to meet you, too. You and Emma were very brave, fighting like you did. Once you're _parabatai_ , I imagine you'll be even more of a lethal team."

"Thanks," Julian replied hollowly.

"Did I hear correctly that your mother was a Whitelaw before she married your father?"

"Yeah. So what?"

"It's just that my grandmother was born a Whitelaw. I guess we're related, albeit a bit distantly."

"It's like we're brothers already," Jules snapped with surprising malice in his voice. "Now I don't even need my real brother back. You know, we should have a family picnic or something sometime."

"Jules!" Emma admonished.

"Emma, I don't have to listen to this!" Julian fired back. "Jace is the reason my parents are dead. He's the reason _yours_ are dead, too. And you're treating him like some _hero_!"

"What are you talking about?" Clary demanded.

"It's your fault," Jules spat at Jace. "It's both of your faults. Without you, Sebastian wouldn't have been able to make his Dark Shadowhunters. You both _helped_ him. Jace killed people for him. And if it weren't for the two of you, Valentine never would have gotten the Mortal Instruments in the first place. There wouldn't have been a Mortal War without your families! So why is it that you get to live in peace while our parents, while Emma's parents, had to _burn_. While my brother is _missing_?"

"Jules, stop. It's not their fault," Emma reasoned, reaching out to touch his shoulder, but Jules shrugged her off, storming away down the hallway. "I'm so sorry, Jace. He hasn't been himself since he lost them. I can't blame him. After my parents died in the Mortal War a few months ago, I was pretty messed up, too. I've pretty much gotten over it. I don't feel self-pity or anything. But I guess it's different when you were there and you feel like you could have done something."

"I understand. I lost my parents, too. And the man who raised me. And my grandparents. Even my little brother and sister. We all deal with it in different ways. If he needs someone to blame, then I don't mind being that person."

Emma flashed a small smile at him. Just then, the door to the council room opened, and Helen Blackthorn stepped through. "The Council is ready with a verdict." She looked at her family, at Emma, and then frowned. "Where's Jules?"

Emma threw her hand over her shoulder, gesturing to where Jules sat on the marble floor at the furthest end of the hall, picking absentmindedly at the hem of his shirt. "Lounging in self-loathing."

"Jules!" Helen called and Julian's head popped up. "Come on! Time to go." Julian, though reluctantly, nodded and stood up, wiping his face on his sleeve. Though Clary couldn't tell for certain, she guessed he'd started crying. Helen turned her attention back to Clary and Jace. "Clary, nice to see you again. Jace Lightwood, nice to meet you." She held out a hand, which Jace shook lightly. "I believe you already know my girlfriend, Aline, right?"

Jace suppressed a laugh, playing it off as a fit of coughing. When he had recovered he answered. "Yes, I know her. We met the last time I was here. Her family was kind enough to allow mine to stay with us. She herself was very. . . Giving."

Helen beamed at him, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "Watch it Lightwood. Just remember: you were the first and _last_ man she was ever interested in, and, if you want me to spare you the embarrassment of the plethora of jokes that have crossed my mind about that, you'll keep your mouth shut about just how _giving_ my girlfriend is."

"Understood," Jace replied, still smirking. "I am nothing if not a gentleman."

Clary laughed at that. "Since when?" Jace looked down at her with a look that said _I have no idea to what you are referring_ , but his lips did not ever form the words themselves. "Where is Aline?" Clary asked Helen. "I thought she'd be here with you."

"She's supposed to be. She probably just slept in late or something. I'll check up on her when the Council takes a break later." Helen put on a brave face, but even Clary could hear the tension in her voice. Then again, her father had just been killed, her brother was missing, and any Shadowhunter in the world could be Jonathan's next target without even knowing. Much to Clary's chagrin, Helen's guess as to Jonathan's plans were just about as good as her own. "In the meantime, after the verdict is delivered, Clary, it's your turn to talk in front of the council. Are you ready?"

"Clary inhaled deeply to calm her shaking body. "As I'll ever be."

 

By the time Aline Penhallow woke up that morning, rich sun light was pouring in through her bedroom windows. Confused, she glanced at the clock on her bedside table and was shocked to find that it was already almost noon. The Council meeting had been supposed to start at precisely 10 am, and you were never supposed to be late for a Council meeting.

Jumping hastily out of bed, Aline strode over to her closet and threw on clothes, hoping that they at least seemed to look okay. Still fastening the buttons on her top, Aline rushed down the hall to the bathroom to fix her hair, merely fixing it up into a messy pony tail. Checking herself in the mirror, she started back down the hall towards the stairs when she remembered something she couldn't believe she'd forgotten.

"Crap," she muttered, examining her bare hands. "The ring." She broke into a sprint back to her bedroom, slamming through the door and going immediately to her dresser, thankfully finding the ring right away and slipping it onto her left ring finger. Behind her, the creak of a floorboard announced that she wasn't alone only moments before a bone-chillingly familiar voice spoke to her.

"Hello, _cousin_. Been a while."

"Sebastian," she whispered, not turning to face him—her eyes were on the small dagger she kept on top of her dresser and she wondered if she could move quickly enough to—

"Please don't," Sebastian cooed, cutting off her thoughts. "We don't want to make this unnecessarily messy."

"Oh, but I want to make things messy," Aline replied coolly, turning to face the white-haired boy. "I want make you bleed. I want to _paint_ the _walls_ with your blood for all you've done."

"Now, that's a bit harsh, isn't it? Besides, I thought you were the nice one. From what I hear, Helen's the one that handles all the bitchiness in your God forsaken relationship. You must hate me more than I thought to switch sides so quickly."

"You killed my cousin and then stole his identity," Aline replied incredulously. "You killed Helen's father and attacked her brothers and sisters. You even took Mark, though only the Angel knows why. Yes, of course I hate you."

"Oh," Sebastian said, clapping his hands together. "Mark! That reminds me. I almost forgot. Mark? Join me, won't you?" A blink of an eye later, Mark Blackthorn slipped through Aline's bedroom door, a bow in his hands and a quiver of arrows strapped over his shoulder. "As you can see, Mark is just fine. Still hate me?"

Aline didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, she tore her eyes away from Sebastian long enough to examine Mark. True, he didn't _seem_ harmed. But he in no way looked normal. His eyes—one golden and one blue—were empty and dead. They didn't belong to him at all. "What did you do to him?" Aline demanded, her voice surprisingly unwavering.

"The same thing that I'm going to do to you," Sebastian taunted.

"Touch me and I swear—"

"You'll what? Face it, Aline. You were never a fighter. That's why you always idolized Isabelle right? Or maybe you had your eye on her for another reason entirely." Aline glared at him, but bit her lip hard to keep from responding. "Whatever," Sebastian continued with a wicked grin. "Lie to yourself. She was _exceptionally_ beautiful, I think we can both agree on that. And a great fighter. But even she was no match for me, Aline. What makes you think you can do any better?"

Aline ignored the question, mostly because there was no answer she could give that he wouldn't throw back in her face. Instead, she changed the subject, speaking in a measured tone. "How did you get into the city? Alicante is a fortress."

"Every fortress has a flaw. I happen to know Alicante's flaw very well. You shall know, as well. After you've joined us."

"I'd rather die," she snarled.

"Patience. I suspect you will die _very_ soon, Aline. But not right now. I get nothing from your death. Your life as one of my Infernal Shadowhunters, however. . ." From behind his back, Sebastian retrieved a cup, one Aline recognized from that night at the Seventh Sacred Site. The Devil's Cup, the one Sebastian used to make the Dark Nephilim.

With speed she hadn't ever been able to utilize before, Aline had reached around and grabbed the hilt of her dagger, spinning back around and holding the blade out in front of her. That's when she noticed Mark; she hadn't seen him draw an arrow or heard the soft hiss of that arrow being pulled back with the bowstring, but both must have happened. Because Mark stood calmly in front of her, bow drawn, arrow pointed directly at her heart. She knew that if he loosed that arrow, she would be dead instantly. Mark Blackthorn never missed.

"I told you," said Sebastian smugly. "I want to avoid any messes here."

 

"Just relax," Jace insisted under his breath so that only Clary could hear. "You did nothing wrong and the council knows that. They're just being as thorough as they can with anything involving Sebastian. "Clary nodded, unworried but still anxious with anticipation. "You'll be fine," Jace promised, bouncing on his heels.

Clary allowed herself a half smile. "Who's reassuring who?"

"Sorry," Jace said. "I don't know why I'm nervous. I know you didn't do anything wrong. And I already know everything that happened to her. I just. . ." He didn't finish, but then he didn't have to. Clary understood.

"You know," she said, looking out of the corner of her eye at him. "You don't have to stay for me. I would completely understand if—"

"Not a chance."

"Attention!" Jia Penhallow called over the dull roar of voices in the packed hall. "The Council will return to order with the verdict of our review of the actions of the Shadowhunters of the Los Angeles Institute. Julian Blackthorn and other Institute inhabitants, please step forward." One by one, each of the Blackthorn children stepped through the crowd, the last being Julian, followed closely by Emma. "The Shadowhunter's Council has decided that there was no wrongdoing on the part of any of the present parties. Emma Carstairs and Julian Blackthorn, your actions are to be commended, and we thank you for your bravery." Helen nodded gratefully while Emma turned and said something to Jules with a smile. Jules didn't answer, but a small grin found its way to his face nonetheless.

"The Council now calls forth the matter of the attack and death of Isabelle Lightwood." Clary's heart sank to her stomach while her stomach dropped all the way through the floor beneath her feet. "Inquisitor Lightwood, please step forward." Robert stepped up, his special Council robes looking strange on him. "Inquisitor Lightwood, as you were the head of the New York Institute at the time of the attack, we ask that you be the Institute's representative here today. As the representative, I must ask you now if your witness is here with us and prepared to give testimony?"

Robert cast a glance over to Jace and Clary where they tood directly in front of the stage and watched as Jace gave him a brief nod. "Yes, Consul Penhallow. She is."

"Very well. Clarissa Morgentstern, please step forward." Unlike the last witness, with Clary there was no hesitation. She, with Jace right behind her, stepped out onto the stage. Clary's heart sped up as she felt the eyes of hundreds of Shadowhunters fall on her. Robert, again, retrieved the Soul Sword and carried it over, offering it to Clary. As soon as her hand came in contact with the cool hilt, she knew this interrogation was going to be different than her previous experiences with the sword. The last time she'd held it, it had been like there were a thousand hooks in her skin _pulling_ the truth out. This time, though, all she felt was a little discomfort. She guessed that if she were a full dark Shadowhunter with no angel blood, she wouldn't have even felt that. Still, for effect, she winced a little and gasped pathetically.

"First, we will ask you the basic questions, of course," said the Inquisitor. "Is your name Clarissa Morgenstern?"

"Yes," Clary responded immediately.

"Daughter of Jocelyn Morgenstern, née Fairchild and Valentine Morgenstern? Sister to Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern?"

"Yes," she repeated, trying to make her breathing sound labored without overselling it.

"Were you present for the attack and murder of Isabelle Sophia Lightwood?" Robert's voice had stayed surprisingly strong during the question, not a trace of accusation or even sadness.

"Yes, I was."

"Will you please tell us, in as much detail as you can manage, the events that transpired leading up to and during the death in question?"

Clary thought of Isabelle, her hands clawing at Clary's body as Clary's own hands slipped around her throat, choking the life from the other girl. Her brother had stood back watching almost lazily. "What are you waiting for?" he's asked. "End her."

But Clary had hesitated. "You got her pretty good with your sword. She'll die soon anyway."

"I know," Jonathan had replied darkly. "But I want to know that you're loyal to me, Clarissa. I need to know. Do this one thing for me, and they'll be no question."

"Clary," Isabelle had gasped. "Please." Clary saw the desperation in her eyes, felt the renewed effort to free herself. But the black-haired I girl was already fading, both from blood loss and lack of oxygen. She hadn't gone quietly, but Clary had expected no less from such a talented fighter as Isabelle Lightwood.

Once it was done, there were only two things running through Clary's mind. First: she'd killed for him. She'd _killed_ a friend for her brother. And second: No one could ever, under any circumstances, find out the truth about that night and live to tell about it.

"Jonathan called me to the alley," Clary told the Council, the lie falling easily and unopposed from her lips. "He'd threatened my mother, and there was no way out. I had to go. I didn't know Isabelle would follow me. I wish more than anything in the world that she hadn't. But she cared about her friends and family. She was a protector, through and through. And that's what ended up costing her her life and her family a daughter, a sister. It's what cost me a best friend. And I'll live with that for the rest of my life."

 

"What do you think that was about?" Clary asked as she and Jace made their way down the steps to the Hall of Accords. After Clary's testimony, they'd been sent back to wait in the hallway to wait with the others while the Council deliberated. Only they never got to hear the verdict. As Jace and Clary were making their way out into the hall, a messenger rushed by into the Council chambers. Only a moment later, Maryse Lightwood appeared through he doors, behind which screams of outrage could be heard.

"Maryse?" Jace asked as she closed the door behind her.

"You all should leave," Maryse instructed urgently. "Now."

"Wait," Jace protested as she began ushering them out the front door. The Blackthorns had already made their way slowly out when Jace stopped and put a hand on Maryse's shoulder. "Mom—I mean. . . Maryse, what's wrong? Is it Clary's verdict? Did she do something wrong? Because there was nothing she could have done. She almost died—" Maryse held up a hand to silence him, and Jace seemed to relax a little when he realized Maryse didn't seem inclined to correct his use of the term "mom."

"It isn't Clarissa," she assured him. "Some information just came in and it is now the highest priority to the Clave by far."

"Maryse," Jace pushed, pitching his voice lower. "Tell me what's happening."

Maryse swallowed, looking over Jace's shoulder at Clary. "Clary, will you leave me alone with my son for a moment?"

Okay, Clary could understand ignoring the "mom" comment in a time of distress, but blatantly calling Jace her son when she had spent so much time convincing herself that he was anything but was not a good sign. It meant that something had spooked her enough to want to protect any family she could, even her adopted kid. What could be _that_ bad? Outwardly, Clary could only nod and walk away, totally confused, through the front doors. She sat down on the cold stone steps to wait for Jace, pulling her jacket closely around her body in the brisk wind. It was a few minutes before Jace had emerged from the Hall, a troubled look on his face.

Now, he looked over at her, the troubled expression still there. "I don't know, exactly," he replied to her earlier question.

"Well, what did Maryse say?"

Jace hesitated. "We can't talk here. Not in the city. I'm not sure who we can trust or who's listening."

"What are you talking about?" Clary remarked incredulously. Trust issues were not a part of the plan right now, but at least they weren't directed at Clary herself for the time being.

They had reached the bottom of the stairs and Jace turned his head from side, looking all around to see if there was anyone around. "Not here," he insisted. "It's too dangerous. We have to get out, get somewhere safe before we talk."

"Get out? Out of where? Alicante?" Jace nodded and Clary shook her head. "How do you plan to pull that one off?"

Jace seemed to think a moment on this, finally taking off in what seemed to Clary like a random direction. "Follow me," he told her.

"Where? What are you going to do?"

"I need you to trust me, Clary. Please."

"Jace," Clary pleaded, coming to a halt behind him. "The last time we snuck away from Alicante, we came back to a city on fire."

"It won't be like that this time. The Shadowhunters can protect the city for an hour or two. We have to get out, because we need to talk." Jace rubbed her arm through her sweater. "Come on, trust me for once?"

Clary bit her lip and rolled her eyes as she caved. "Fine. Probably a regrettable choice, but I do trust you. Lead the way."

Half an hour later, Jace and Clary were riding Jace's horse, Wayfarer, through the beautiful rural Idrisian countryside, safely outside the wards. Jace had managed to convince the Shadowhunters on guard that he was visiting the estate Amatis had left him outside the city. The guard, though reluctantly, had agreed. Apparently, he didn't think two teenagers could do much damage. And apparently, he wasn't caught up in Shadowhunter gossip enough to recognize that the names "Clary Fray" and "Jace Lightwood" were always exceptions to that rule of thumb.

"Okay," Clary said impatiently as yet another silent minute passed between Jace and the distance between themselves and the city was growing. "Now can you tell me—?"

"Not yet," Jace replied over his shoulder. "We're not there yet."

"Where?" Clary thought for a moment, then took a guess. "The Herondale manor house? Like you told the guard?"

Jace nodded. "I wasn't lying. I really do want to see the place."

"Well, I just hope it isn't too much farther," Clary replied grudgingly, shifting on the saddle. "I'm already sore beyond belief." Clary felt Jace's tall frame shake with laughter.

"I'm guessing you didn't really get a lot of opportunities to ride horses growing up in New York City."

"Not really. Luke took me to ride a pony one summer when we were vacationing upstate at his farmhouse. Before I even got on the thing, it bit me. And I haven't really been friends with creatures of the equine persuasion since."

"You never told me that. Not even when we rode out to Valentine's manor house the last time."

Clary looked out at the dying greenery around her as she thought back to that day. "A lot was going on back then. I was more worried about loving my brother than I was about giant evil creatures from Hell."

"Wayfarer isn't evil," Jace reasoned, patting the horse's neck.

"He doesn't seem to be," Clary agreed. "But I'm still keeping an eye on him."

Idris had been green and gold and russet in the autumn, when Clary had first been there. It had a stark grandeur in the winter: the mountains rose in the distance, capped white with snow, and the trees along the side of the road that led back to Alicante from the lake were stripped bare, their leafless branches making lace-like patterns against the bright sky.

Sometimes Jace would slow the horse to point out the manor houses of the richer Shadowhunter families, hidden from the road when the trees were full but revealed now. She felt his shoulders tense as they passed one that nearly melded with the forest around it: it had clearly been burned and rebuilt. Some of the stones still bore the black marks of smoke and fire. “The Blackthorn manor,” he said. “Which means that around this bend in the road is …” He paused as Wayfarer summited a small hill, and reined him in so they could look down to where the road split in two. One direction led back toward Alicante — Clary could see the demon towers in the distance — while the other curled down toward a large building of mellow golden stone, surrounded by a low wall. “ … the Herondale manor,” Jace finished.

The wind picked up; icy, it ruffled Jace’s hair. Clary had her hood up, but he was bare-headed and bare-handed, having said he hated wearing gloves when horseback riding. He liked to feel the reins in his hands. “Did you want to go and look at it?” she asked.

His breath came out in a white cloud. “I’m not sure.”

"What's stopping you? You were the one who wanted to come." Clary couldn't see Jace's face, but the sadness in his voice spoke a million reasons.

"My parents lived here. My mother _died_ here. I should have died here, too."

"Jace—"

"Imagine how much wouldn't have gone wrong if Valentine hadn't saved me that day."

"You can't seriously be letting that brat Blackthorn kid into your head, Jace. I thought you said you were fine with him—"

"Emma needed to hear me say something confident in order for her to be confident. She's twelve. She just wants to know things are going to be okay, that the world has compassion. But Jules. . . He was right. It's my fault. All those dead people. God, Isabelle and Max—"

"If he was right about you, then he was right about me too, Jace," Clary countered. "Think how different things would be if my mother had killed Jonathan as a baby, or if she hadn't rebelled against Valentine in the Uprising. There will always be what-ifs, Jace. We can't live around them. We can't let what didn't happen affect us as much as what has."

Jace took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling tensely. "I'm sorry. I just—" Jace stopped, his head snapping up like a predator who has just had prey pop up on its radar.

"Jace?" Clary whispered. "What's going on?"

"Someone else is here," he answered, confusion in his tone.

"Are you sure? How can you tell?"

"No one's been here since the days around the Uprising over sixteen years ago. So why are there fresh footprints in the front path and a witchlight on inside?"

"Should we go back?"

"No." Jace looked back at her, smirking. "Let's go say hello."

 

"Home sweet home," Tessa announced dryly as she held the front door open for Magnus, placing a witchlight stone in the torch-like holder on the wall.

"How did you know where they hid the key?" Magnus responded, taking in his beautiful new surroundings. The building had a very rustic design—to be expected considering barely anyone had been here in the better part of two decades. "And what about the rune lock? How did you know how to undo it? Where the Hell did you get a stele, by the way?"

"You always seem to forget that I'm half Shadowhunter, Magnus. Will brought me here a couple of times. I haven't been here since before James and Lucie were born. Hasn't really changed much." Tessa slowly ran her fingers over pieces of furniture and the walls as she led Magnus from the foyer to the sitting room. "I can feel new people though. The people these things belonged to last. Stephen, Celine. . ." Tessa's face pinched together in confusion.

"Tessa?" Magnus asked, measured concern painting his voice.

"Something's wrong. I feel something wrong about this place. Something _off_ and dark. Someone else has been here—" She stopped mid-sentence, falling silent as her eyes snapped to the window. "And someone else is here now."

"What are you talking about, Tessa?" Magnus demanded, but Tessa waved the question away as she strode over to the window, hiding carefully behind the curtain as she glanced out.

"It's a boy and a girl. They're riding in, probably from the city. They look pretty young, like teenagers. About sixteen or seventeen. The one in front, the boy, he has golden hair and eyes to match, like an angel. And the girl. . ." Tessa's eyes narrowed as she examined the girl on the back of the horse; the red hair, the pale skin, the piercing green eyes glancing around as the boy led their horse down the embankment toward the manor. "Is that Jocelyn?" she exclaimed in disbelief. "That's impossible. She looks exactly the same—"

"It isn't Jocelyn," Magnus cut in, still standing in the middle of the room.

"How would you know?"

He smiled condescendingly at her. "My dear, not everyone keeps their immortal good looks the way we do. The boy may look like an angel, but I assure you he is nothing more than an arrogant pain in my neck. Actually reminds me a lot of your husband. Which is actually quite funny, considering. . . Well, I'll get to that in a moment. As for the girl," he continued, stepping carefully over to stand by Tessa at the window. "Well, let's just say I wouldn't be surprised if those fiery curls were covering up a pair of horns on that devil incarnate."

Tessa gaped at him. "Magnus, would you like to tell the group how you really feel?" she replied, astonished.

Magnus pointed out the window to where the two trespassers were now retreating around the back of the house. "That girl," he explained with the demeanor of an old schoolteacher explaining quantum physics to a bunch of ten-year-olds, "is Clarissa Fray, Jocelyn's daughter. You remember what I told you, don't you?" Tessa nodded, and so he went on. "The boy is her love-blinded and inseparable, over-protective boyfriend, Jace Lightwood."

"Lightwood? He doesn't look like a Lightwood." She pondered this for a moment, but shrugged. "Why would he be here, anyway?"

"That I actually don't know. What I do know is that it might have to do with the fact that 'Lightwood' is the name of his adopted family."

"And? What's his real name?"

Magnus locked his eyes onto hers as he spoke. "Jace Herondale." A still, silent moment passed between them. Then, suddenly, Tessa was in motion, striding furiously toward the front door, beside which she had left her trunk upon arriving. "Tessa, where are you going?" Magnus demanded.

"Anywhere but here." She reached for her trunk, but it was no longer by her side. She looked around confusedly before spotting it by Magnus's feet, blue sparks dimly lighting up Magnus's fingers. "Give me my things back, Magnus."

"He's your _family_ , Tessa."

"Exactly!" She replied, hot tears burning her eyelids. "You know how I feel about them. I can't get to know them, Magnus. It breaks my heart every time."

"You told me I was stupid for pushing away Alexander because I was afraid to get hurt."

"You aren't afraid of anything, Magnus. Not even dying. You never were."

"I'm afraid of living a life without him." Tessa's mouth slammed shut—of course, she knew that Magnus cared for Alexander deeply. But she had never heard Magnus say anything like that in all the time she knew him. Maybe Alec really was the special one. She couldn't respond, but luckily, Magnus had a few extra words to spare.

"He's your family, Tessa. Not only that, he's the last of _his_ family. He thinks he's alone. That's why he's afraid to carry the family name. He's afraid he'll dishonor the family when there's no one else to atone for that mistake and salvage the name's honor. He's afraid of dying and ending the line by himself. If he only knew—"

"I can't, Magnus," Tessa insisted, holding back a sob. "I can't do this."

"You're the only family each other has left. The least you can do is say hi."

 

"Stay behind me. No matter what happens, Clary, I need you to stay behind me and not do anything stupid." Jace and Clary were hiding inside the stable around back of the Herondale manor, having stashed Wayfarer there. They were kneeling by the stable's entrance, Jace whispering instructions to her as she rolled her eyes at his paranoia. "Don't give me that look, Clary. No one is supposed to be here. And pretty much any Shadowhunter that evens knows about this place is supposed to be in the city."

"Wait," Clary said. "Jace, you aren't thinking Jonathan—"

"I'm just saying that there's a good possibility that your brother is inside this house. So you might want to stay alert. I'm not taking any more chances with him."

"Alert?" Clary repeated incredulously. "Jace, if he's in there, we should be running as far away as we can."

"I’m not telling you to stay here, Clary," Jace snapped. "But I have a certain bone to pick with your brother. Quite a few, actually. More like a skeleton."

Clary bit her lip hard—how was she supposed to act if she ran into her brother right now, with Jace with her? Sighing exasperatedly, Clary pulled up her shirt in the back and pulled out the dagger she'd decided to bring with her in case things didn't go as planned at the Council meeting. Whether she would use it on her boyfriend or her brother, she wasn't one hundred percent sure just yet. "Okay. Let's go. Maybe—" Clary didn't finish. While she had held Jace's attention, they had apparently let their guards down and lost track of their surroundings. For, standing outside the stable doors just a few feet from them, was a girl. She didn't look like she could have been much more than twenty. She was dressed in a thick blue cardigan and jeans. She looked like any other teenager except for her eyes. Her eyes seemed too _old_ for the face they were set in. Jace, recovering from the surprise of seeing a stranger in front of them faded quicker Clary did, raised a seraph blade that he had retrieved from his belt out in front of him.

"Who are you?" he demanded fiercely. "What are you doing here?"

The girl seemed unfazed by the weapon aimed to kill her at any moment. "My name is Tessa Gray," she answered easily. "As to why I'm here, Jace, I think _I'm_ the one who should be asking _you_ that."

Jace fumbled for words a little as he heard his name fall from the girl's lips. "Well, you know my name. Then you should know who I am. I am the last of the Herondale family. This manor house had been placed in my care. You are trespassing."

The girl—Tessa, she'd called herself—raised the corners of her lips into a smile. "Relax, Jace. I'm not here to hurt you. I did not know this manor had been left to you. Once upon a time, it belonged to myself and my husband, but I feared that the last generation may have left it to someone foolish such as Valentine Morgenstern. I didn't know it was in Amatis's possession for her to give away when she passed."

Jace lowered the seraph blade ever so slightly, scrutinizing Tessa's face for signs of dishonesty. "What do you mean it belonged to you and your husband?"

"Well," Tessa answered, "I supposed it belonged to Will's sister as well, but she never came her as far as I know."

"That's not what I mean. You're married? You don't look much older than us. And you talk about my parents as if they were _younger_ than you."

"Looks can be deceiving, Jace. To your eyes, I look like a girl in her early twenties, maybe. In reality? I am one hundred and forty five years old."

Clary felt her mouth fall open. She couldn't see Jace's face, but his silence spoke loudly enough.

"Well done, Tessa," a familiar voice congratulated, and Clary turned to see Magnus come around the corner, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he came to stand by Tessa. "I have to commend you for that beautiful bombshell. Anyone that can leave Jace Lightwood speechless is a very good friend to have around."

"Magnus?" Jace asked incredulously.

"Okay," Clary piped up finally. "Forgive me, but I'm so beyond confused right now, they might need to create a new word for it. You're a warlock?" she asked Tessa, who nodded.

"I suppose that's the best term for what I am," Tessa replied vaguely.

"A warlock who married a Herondale?"

"As much as this doesn't make sense now, Clarissa, I assure you there is a logical explanation to this all. But it is no short story. Why don't you two come in and we'll explain it to you while you warm up?"

"Actually, we probably shouldn't," Jace answered quickly. "I wasn't planning on staying gone long. I just needed to tell Clary something I couldn't tell her in the city. Something we aren't really supposed to know about."

"But since when have the rules of the Clave ever applied to you?" Magnus remarked.

"It was important. And Maryse told me because she wanted to keep me and Clary safe. She thought this might mean that Sebastian is planning something bigger for the city that we originally though, so she told me to get Clary away, not to trust anyone or to even tell Clary about it until we got out of the wards and somewhere safe where we wouldn't be overheard."

"What's happened that has Maryse Lightwood running scared?" Magnus asked, but Jace looked at him imploringly, trying to get him to understand that he really wasn't supposed to say.

"Jace, come on," Clary coaxed. "They're our friends. At least, I'm pretty sure—"

"Oh, for God's sakes, I'll send a fire message to Alec if that will make you feel any better. At least my boyfriend trusts me."

Clary's eyebrows hiked up at this. "You and Alec are. . . I mean, I didn't know—"

"Well, it's not like we send out a Christmas greeting card telling every person we've ever met that we got back together," Magnus snapped, cutting her off. "Anyway, Jace. You were saying?"

Casting a glance at Clary, Jace finally gave in. "The Council got notice today that the wards in Beijing have failed. Somebody's sabotaged them."

"Is that bad?" Clary asked.

"Those are some of the world's most important wards," Tessa informed her. Thankfully, she managed not to sound as if she were talking to a child while explaining. It was quite refreshing, actually. "Picture a demon invasion in the middle of one of the world's largest cultural and economic centers. And then there's the fact that China has one of the largest percentages of the human population within its borders. Yes, Clarissa. It's bad."

"Not only that, but a lot of other wards have been broken in the past few weeks. The ones in Moscow, Hong Kong, Los Angeles—basically anywhere there have been Institute attacks—have also come down. The thing is, they weren't actually broken or anything, like the ones in Alicante when Sebastian took them down. It was like they had been deactivated. Just shut down, like a switch had been flipped."

"No. That's not possible." Tessa's face was one of incredulity. "The knowledge of how to deactivate the wards is a closely guarded secret. It's hidden in the archives of the Silent City and had been for years."

"What if they were stolen?" Magnus posited. "We know Valentine stole the Mortal Sword when he broke into the City of Bones and slaughtered most of the Brotherhood. What if her got into the archives too?"

"I supposed it's possible," Tessa agreed.

Turning to face Tessa and lowering his voice, Magnus whispered to her. "Perhaps if you could get a message to Z—"

"He wouldn't respond, Magnus," Tessa interrupted quickly. "That information is only available to a member of the Clave, which I am not."

"But, luckily enough," Jace interjected, "I happen to know a couple of people who actually are."

Magnus smiled at Tessa. "See? Crisis avoided."

Tessa replied with a response that was in audible to Clary and, while Tessa and Magnus launched into a brief yet heated conversation about someone named "James," she turned to Jace and spoke to him. "Well," she said. "This has certainly been an eventful afternoon. How does it feel meeting your great-great-great-great-however-many-more-greats-she-is-grandmother?"

"Weird," Jace replied uneasily, eyeing the brown-haired girl suspiciously. "I find it even stranger that I've never hear of her. I mean, the name sounds familiar, but I'm not sure why."

Clary shrugged. "You can't expect to know the entire Herondale family tree and history already. You've only known you were part of it for a few months. I just want to know how she knows _us_ so well."

"I had a little bit of help there," Tessa supplied helpfully, having moved from Magnus's side to stand directly in front of Clary. "Magnus had to tell me your names. Frankly, Clarissa, I thought you were your mother when I first saw you."

"You know my mom?"

"We met briefly when you were a small child. She asked me to help with the Shadowhunter protection ceremony. Since then, we've seen each other a few ties. Mainly when she would return to Magnus every two years to have your memories altered."

A small flame of anger flared up inside Clary that she tried desperately to smother. She knew that her mother had been protecting her, but she still didn't think she'd ever fully forgive her for keeping her real life a secret for sixteen years. Suddenly, Clary remember her mother, sick at home, probably dying from anxiety right about now. She grabbed Jace's shoulder. "Speaking of my mother, we have to get back. She's probably worried. He wouldn't have known what happened at the Council meeting and then when we didn't show up at home—"

"Your mother wasn't at the Council meeting?" Magnus asked. "That's odd."

"She isn't feeling well. I'm not really sure what' wrong. But I'm sure she's fine. She says she'll be okay. It's probably just a stomach bug."

"I hope so. Speaking of the Council meeting, Clary," Magnus continued conversationally. "How did your testimony go this morning?"

Clary flashed him a superior smile. "It went fine. Now that everyone knows what really happened to Isabelle, I think I can sleep a little easier."

Magnus smiled unconvincingly back at her, searching Jace's expression, she was sure, for any sign of doubt he had in her character. But he would find nothing. Clary had fooled the Council under the Mortal Sword. There was no second-guessing her now.

 

"You look like you could use some caffeine," Maia announced as she stepped through the doorway of Jordan's apartment. She held out a white to-go cup out to him as he closed the front door and locked the deadbolt.

"Thanks," Jordan said, graciously taking the warm cup from her and sipping at it.

"No! NO NO NO NO!" Maia jumped at the outburst and spun around to see that the youngest wolf of Jordan's new pack, Cale, was playing Jordan's Xbox as Michael watched in amusement. Hayden was nowhere to be seen. "Lies! This game cheats, Jordan! I totally killed that guy! His gun shouldn’t have gotten me! It was a glitch. I demand a rematch, Xbox!"

"That was the fifth 'glitch' in a row, Cale," Michael taunted. "Come on. Let someone else play for once. You already ran Hayden off the way you hog the TV."

Cale opened his mouth to shout something back at his brother, but Jordan spoke up first. "Cale," Jordan said sternly. "Inside voice. I have neighbors, you know. What are we going to do if one calls the cops?"

Cale groaned irritably and tossed the controller at his brother while he sat on the futon couch, fuming. Maia suppressed a laugh. "At least they listen to you. That's a good start."

"I guess," Jordan replied tiredly. Maia examined his bloodshot eyes.

"When was the last time you slept, Jordy?" she asked.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I've been keeping an eye on them as much as possible. I'm almost afraid to go to sleep, especially not having any idea how bad things are getting out there."

Maia crossed through the living area into the apartment's small kitchen, Jordan following close behind. "So you haven't heard anything from Alec?"

"Nothing. Haven't heard from Magnus either."

"You know they'll call if they need us," Maia reassured him, leaning up against the counter.

"I know. I just hate waiting around for something else to happen, for another part of the world to come crumbling down. I want to be doing _something_."

"I know you do. But maybe you should stop looking for battles and start preparing for them so that you'll have a better chance when you get there."

"What do you mean? How do you prepare for battle?"

Maia nodded her head in the direction of the two boys at the TV. "You're an alpha now. But that doesn't mean you have to do everything. Packs have hierarchies, second- and third-in-commands. You have to start trusting them as much as you trust yourself. Then you can start talking strategy to minimize casualties."

"They aren't _fighters,_ Maia."

"They're your pack, Jordan. They fight for whatever you fight for. Are you still willing to jump into battle knowing they'll be right beside you?"

"They shouldn't have to—"

"But they do. They're loyal to you. And they will not let you do this by yourself."

Jordan looked over at Cale and his brother, who were arguing again abut turns on the gaming console. "I promised them they didn't have to fight for something they didn't have any part of creating."

"You should still ask them what they want to do. They might surprise you."

"They're just kids, Maia."

"They were Praetor. You guys are lethal by age ten. And, hey," she said, pulling him against her by his belt loops. "You seem to keep forgetting that we are _all_ kids."

" _I'm_ an alpha. I can't afford to be a kid anymore. I have to grow up."

Maia nodded reluctantly, holding Jordan's hand tightly. "Growing up is overrated, you know?"

Jordan smiled mischievously. "You can't tell me you prefer my younger, stupider self, the one that turned you, to the devilishly handsome man you see before you now."

"No," Maia admitted.

"Besides, considering the things we do oh so well. . . I don't think 'kid' is anywhere near an acceptable term." Jordan reached a hand down behind Maia's knee and, holding her firmly by her back, he picked her up and placed her on the counter so that he could reach her lips with his own more easily. Maia gasped in surprise, but returned the kiss deeply, knotting her fingers in his hair. They had forgotten they were making out in full view of Michael and Cale. That is, until they heard Cale exclaim in disgust.

"Gross!"                 

"Yeah, you two. There's a kid present and a bedroom only a few steps away," Michael added with a surly smile.

Jordan pulled away from the kiss, keeping a hand on Maia's hip. "Or I could just continue and anyone who doesn't like it can get out," he remarked, smiling and wishing someone would challenge him. Michael just rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything more, turning back to the TV screen and the game he was teaching Cale to play.

"He's right," said Maia, and Jordan turned back to see her, the blush fading from her cheeks a little as their moment passed by. "Besides, you look so tired, I’m afraid you'll randomly fall asleep at any given second."

"I'm _tired_ ," he replied. "Not narcoleptic."

Maia smiled and shook her head, glancing around the room momentarily. Something she had noticed when she'd first walked in was suddenly weighing on her mind. She looked up at Jordan. "Where's the other one? The other Praetor kid?"

"Hayden?" Jordan shrugged. "Simon's room. I think he mostly just wants to be alone right now."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Maia asked skeptically.

"Well, clearly you don't."

"It's not that I don't trust him," she insisted. Looking over Jordan's shoulder to ensure that Cale and Michael were still engrossed in their game, Maia lowered her voice to a whisper as she continued. "It's just. . . How do you know you can trust him? He's Scott's grandson. How do you know he isn't spying? You know Scott isn't about doing something like that."

"If he's a spy, he's not a very accomplished one, staying away from the others all the time. All he's done since he's gotten here is mope around, all depressed-like. It's actually kind of sad."

"What's he upset about?"

Jordan shrugged again. "I don't know really."

"You haven't talked about it? To him?"

"What am I supposed to do, Maia? I'm not a camp counselor."

"No. You're an alpha. And he's a member of your pack. That makes you responsible for him. The last thing you want is some loose cannon to cost you everything."

"I'm not a loose cannon." Both Maia and Jordan jumped at the interruption. Hayden stood a few feet away, looking tired and bleary-eyes. Neither of them had heard him come out of Simon's bedroom. "And I’m not a spy, either."

"Were you eavesdropping just now?" Jordan asked.

"Not so much eavesdropping as I couldn't help hearing you. I heard my name and I was curious. It's not like I was busy doing anything else."

"Hayden," Maia began imploringly. "It's not that we don't trust you. It's just that—"

"You think I'm untrustworthy?" he suggested blandly.

"For now," said Jordan. "But. . . There might be a way to change that."

Maia shot a confused glance at Jordan. "How?" she said, right as Hayden said "Anything."

"I'm your alpha now," Jordan explained to Hayden. "Between that, my training from the Praetor, and my overall life experience, I've become very good at telling when people are lying. So, Hayden, here's what we're going to do. You are going to sit in that chair," Jordan instructed, point to a barstool. "And you are going to tell me everything. Why you left the Praetor, why you betrayed your grandfather, what you know about Sebastian's plans for the Praetor. Everything you know. If you're lying about anything, I will know, and you'll be on your own from here on in. Understood?" Hayden swallowed and Maia could hear his heartbeat speed up ever so slightly, but the other boy nodded in agreement anyway. He crossed the kitchen and sat down on the bar stool Jordan had indicated, perched nervously on the edge of the seat. He looked up at Maia and Jordan each in turn, eyes finally falling back to Jordan's. He took a deep breath, and then began.

"My parents were both Praetor Lupus. When I was eight, they went off together on assignment and I never saw them again. A Shadowhunter killed them in cold blood and told the Clave that they had broken a law and were considered rogue Downworlders. Anyway, my grandfather was the only family I had left. I never really wanted to be Praetor, but I had no choice. There was nowhere else from me.

"I mean, I wanted to be stronger, of course. I wanted the glory of being a protector, of helping people. The Scott name used to be _respected_. But my grandfather ruined that name. He didn't care about protecting the weak and helpless. He didn't care about finding and saving the new and innocent Downworlders with nowhere to go. He only cared about vengeance. And he was going to help _destroy_ the _world_ because he wanted to avenge my parents' death. I couldn't just stand by and watch him do that.

"And then you showed up the Praetor House and you left the pack. You refused to go along with it anymore. Jordan Kyle, the Praetor's poster child for self-control and excellence. The top of our graduating class. And you stood up to my grandfather and then _left_. I knew that what you were saying was true. So I followed you. And now you're my alpha and I will always follow you."

Jordan paused a moment, studying Hayden's expression. Maia flicked her eyes back and forth between the two boys. She didn't trust Hayden unconditionally quite yet, but his heart had stayed steady and slow throughout his testimony. "Okay," Jordan said finally, and Hayden breathed a sigh of relief, tension draining from his shoulders. "I believe you. But what about Sebastian's plans? Did Scott ever talk to you about them? Did you ever hear him talking about them to others?"

Hayden shook his head. "No. I'm sorry. But he never really trusted me like he did the others."

"What others? Who would he trust?"

"Xavier, mostly. Reilly. Samuel. And you. At least, I thought you were. He really never told you?"

"He never told me anything. I have a feeling he'd have told me eventually. But he wanted me to spy on the Lightwoods first. That’s the extent of my knowledge on the situation. He was really interested in the Institute and the Shadowhunters. It makes sense, I guess. It's where Jonathan's sister was. Not to mention a good portion of his enemies. I just wish I knew what he wanted with the city's Downworlder population. Vampires, werewolves, probably faeries and a few warlocks, too. I wish I had at least some clue what his plan was."

Maia nodded, but had nothing to add. Wishing never did any good. What they needed was for the tables to turn, for something to happen that would put Sebastian just within reach. . .

There was a knock on Jordan's front door. Jordan tensed up, staring at the door suspiciously. Not surprising, considering most of their friends were stuck inside a city halfway across the world. "Maybe it's Magnus," she suggested calmingly. "Or Simon."

"They'd have called or texted. No, it's not them." Whispering, Jordan spoke to the brothers on the couch, who had turned to look at him expectantly. "Simon's room. Go." They both nodded and got up quickly, and Jordan brought his gaze back to the boy sitting in front of him. "You too, Hayden."

"But—"

"Rule number one: don't disobey the alpha," Jordan ordered. "Go. Lock the door. Don't come out unless I tell you it's okay."

Hayden, thankfully, listened and went to the room with the others, leaving only Jordan and Maia. There was another knock at the door, and Jordan glanced at Maia, muttering to her, "Look natural, but be on guard." Maia nodded and leaned back casually against the counter, picking up her coffee and sipping at the now-cold liquid.

Jordan walked cautiously to the front door, hand hovering over the small knife he kept in his front jeans pocket. With the other hand, he slowly undid the deadbolt and pulled the door open. Behind it was a huge group of maybe ten or so werewolves. Maia recognized a few from the road trip she and Jordan had taken a month ago—they were Praetor. In front of the group stood a buff, suntanned boy, about twenty years old, she guess. She didn't know him, but Jordan seemed to.

"Xavier?" Jordan asked suspiciously. "What are all of you doing here?"

"Relax," the older boy say in a gruff voice. "We aren't here to attack. We're here to join."

"Join what?"

"Your pack." The response was simple enough, but from what Jordan had told Maia about what happened at the Praetor House, the whole situation was bizarre and confusing.

"Why should I trust you?"

"I could list the reasons for hours, Kyle. The main reason, though, is because we have what you want. I know what Scott is helping Sebastian with. I mean, I did hear that right from down the hall, didn't I? I know you need to know, to help the Shadowhunters prepare, and I am willing to give it all to you."

Jordan looked over at Maia and then turned back to Mason. "Come on in, Z."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N#1: So, this is a kinda bittersweet author’s note. It may be the last update this fan fiction ever sees. As you know, City of Heavenly Fire comes out in just over two weeks! Now, I have tons of plans for the rest of this fan fiction, but I am only just over halfway done with it. It is one of my favorite things I have ever done and I wouldn’t have changed it for the world. The thing is, I wanted this to be a kind of filler novel until the real book came out, and I’m not really sure if you guys wanted me to continue after the real story came out, or if anyone would still read it afterward. So, I’m leaving it up to my followers (on Facebook, Tumblr, Twitter, FF.net, Wattpad, and Archive of Our Own): If you want the rest of the book, you have to let me know. If you don’t want the whole thing, I understand. I would be glad to kinda write up general notes for each of the next chapters, just telling everyone what would happen without all the dramatics and dialogue. This would include any of the other scenes I have already written for later in the book. IT IS TOTALLY UP TO MY FOLLOWERS ACROSS THE NET ABOUT WHAT I DO! I will give it a week, look at all the comments/reviews/messages I receive and then I will make a decision and let you know what the future of the story is. No matter what everyone decides, know that I understand and that I am soooooooooooooo grateful for everyone’s support in making City of Heavenly Fire: The Officially Unofficial Fan Fiction.  
> A/N#2: Also, I wanted to let you guys know about a project I’m working on. I’m working on writing fan fiction scripts for several series/books whose movies have been optioned, but are in development hell (or the movies just reaaaaaaaaaally sucked). I would really like to, eventually, actually film a couple of the movies and post them on YouTube for fans of the series. The list of scripts I’m going to work on is over ONE HUNDRED BOOKS AND STILL GROWING! If I end up shooting the films, I will need directors, actors, camera crew, makeup artists, soundtrack & score people, costume designers, etc. These will most likely shoot in Georgia. I will also be running kickstarter campaigns to fund the films, as they will come with quite the price tag. These films will not be for theatres, nor will we be making any profit off of them. We are just making these films for the fans (like the AWESOME Maximum Ride fan series on YouTube) and we hope that the studios who own the movie rights as well as the authors and book publishers all see this as a work of fan art and NOT copyright infringement. ANYWAYS, I am really going to need help if/when I start these, so it would be soooooo sweet if you sent people my way you think might be able to help! (They can email ~besttmiquotes @ gmail . com~ without spaces or message me here, on twitter @BestTMIQuotes, or on Facebook @ “The Best Mortal Instruments Quotes” fan page.) ALSO, graphic designers and animators would be soooooooooooooooo useful on almost any film we make, so those especially are important for me to find! Please note: there will be literally no money made off this film. No matter what you work on (acting, filming, extra-ing), the possibility of you getting any money from it are slim to none. This is just a volunteer project in which you get to practice your acting skills/other skills and show your love for your fandom! (Also, I have decided the first series I'm going to work on is going to be the Selection by Kiera Cass. If you want more info about this adaptation, go to my blog at tmiquotespage[dot]tumblr[dot]com on the page titled "FAN SCRIPT UPDATES!")  
> That’s it guys! TTYL AND LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU WANT ME TO DO ABOUT THE REST OF THE FAN FICTION!


	17. Chapter 13: Green

**13**

**Green**

"What are you thinking?" Magnus asked Tessa wearily as they watched Jace and Clary disappear out of sight, riding back to Alicante.

"I'm thinking," Tessa answered, not looking at him as she spoke, "that you might be right. About Clary, I mean. But. . . ." She turned to her companion, a troubled expression blanketing her features. "I don't know that just a suspicion in enough, Magnus. We've both been wrong about things before and we've made terrible mistakes because of it. I want to be absolutely sure about Clarissa before we do anything that could cause a lot of unnecessary trouble."

"Sure? How are you planning on being sure? Can't you just take a leap of faith—?"

"Leaps of faith are noble, of course, but why leap before you even look to see if there is a safer bridge between guessing and absolute certainty?"

"So, what? You're just going to ask her outright? 'Hey, Clary. Just out of random curiosity, are you by any chance an evil possessed minion of your brother's bent on destroying the Shadowhunter race and the world as a whole?'"

"I was going to go for something a little subtler." A smile curled on the edges of Tessa's mouth. "Luckily for me, there are less borderline-suicidal methods to finding out what's really going on in Clary's mind. If I do it right, she'll never know we know anything more than we do right now."

Magnus's confusion-ridden face smoothed out as the realization came to him, replaced now by a look of fierce determination. "Absolutely not, Tessa."

Tessa threw her hands in the air. "You don't even know what I was going to suggest!"

"Tessa, I know you. I know exactly what you want to do, and my answer is still no."

"And why not?" she replied petulantly.

Magnus glared at her incredulously. "Because you'd have to get something personal of hers to be able to complete the change, and that would require going near her. I don't want you anywhere around Clary."

"It's my choice. And I won't be in danger. I'll visit Jocelyn in Alicante. She won't even think twice about it. If I plan it right, I could actually get there before Clary."

"And how do you plan to get _into_ Alicante, Tessa?"

"Well, there's the fun part. Let's just say there are ways in and out of the city that very few people have ever had the privilege of knowing about. Herondale family perks."

"I’d ask, but I know better. If you want to keep a secret, you'll keep it. And who am I to stop you? Alright, smarty pants, so you've gotten _into_ the city. What about getting around? Surely someone's going to notice you aren't like them."

"I am a Downworlder and the child of demon. I'm not denying that. But, above all, I am a child of a Nephilim. Therefore, I am a Shadowhunter. I've been trained to be one, though I haven't _been_ one for years. I can be one again. By law, any Shadowhunter seeking sanctuary in the Glass City is to be allowed within the wards. They can't turn me away. _Sed lex, dura lex._ ”

"These people weren't around back then, Tessa. There's no guarantee they would understand what you are. There's no guarantee they wouldn't lock you up—"

"I'll only be there for a few hours, Magnus. Besides, they have no reason to doubt me. If anything goes too terribly wrong, I'm sure Brother Zachariah could clear things up." One glance at Magnus's look of fierce determination to keep her out of harm's way only increased Tessa's own desire to carry out her plan. "Magnus, it's not even dangerous. Relax. Please. I've done this a hundred times before."

"No you haven't," he responded grudgingly.

"You're right. I've never done this in particular. But I _am_ smart enough. I can do this, Magnus. You can't tell me this is the most dangerous or even the stupidest thing you've ever helped me do."

Magnus opened his mouth, seemed to recall something, and subsequently shut it. Tessa could only imagine which of their adventures he had just reminded himself of. There were too many to do much more than guess. His lips set in a line, his lined eyes glaring back at her. "That doesn't mean I'm going to help you with this. I am putting my foot down. Well, figuratively. It's muddy and my Guccis are already dangerously grimy."

"Well, I'm picking your foot back op because I don't need your help. I'll do this myself if I have to. I don't need permission from anyone."

Magnus smirked at her. "I could always just freeze you in place. Pretty hard to get yourself killed like that."

"I could always turn into you and freeze _you_. Been practicing that little trick lately, actually."

"Why am I not surprised?" Magnus responded tiredly, though there was amusement in his voice.

"There's a war coming, Magnus. No, it's already here. And I wish it weren't true, but there will be no by standing this time. There's no being team Switzerland here. If we have something that can help, we have the responsibility to take that course of action. It's not just Shadowhunters facing extinction. It is every creature in existence on this planet. There's no time to twiddle our thumbs and wait. We have to act now. At least, I do. I would appreciate your help, but I don't need it. I'm doing this with or without you."

Magnus stared at her for a moment, contemplating. Finally, he sighed and threw up his hands in surrender. "I should have known. If there's one thing your husband left with you, it is definitely his sense of stubbornness."

Tessa reached instinctively for the pearl bracelet on her wrist, smiling sadly at Magnus. "Will left me with many things, only one of which was his stubbornness. I had to develop it just to battle his own day to day."

Magus nodded and hesitated before speaking again. "So there really is no stopping you, is there?"

Tessa shook her head. "None whatsoever."

Magnus's mouth quirked up on one end in a smirk. "Well, then. I suppose I should accompany you. I can at least try to make sure you aren't killed on your way through the countryside."

"Ever the gentleman. Though, of course, we won't be in the countryside for long the way we're going."

"Oh, I'm no gentleman, Tessa. A gentleman wouldn't let you go in the first place. He'd probably throw you in a bedroom and lock the door until you finally change your mind. Though, obviously, this is a gentleman who truly underestimates the extent of your resolve. If he really knew, he'd probably lock you in a dungeon. Now, I know I'm getting a little senile at my old age, so you'll have to bear with me, but I seem to recall you having a special inclination toward caves. Am I right?"

Tessa blushed a deep red and felt her eyes go wide of their own volition. She gaped at Magnus and slapped his shoulder hard. "That is not even funny!"

 

Jace stepped into the entryway of the Inquisitor's house, finally back in Alicante. The whole week had been exhausting, and that day—spent in council meetings and horseback riding and meeting long lost relatives—had been no exception. He pulled his heavy coat off his shoulders and sighed as his bare skin came in contact with the warmth of the house. He hung the jacket on a hook by the door, stepping forward and calling out. "Maryse? Robert? Is anyone home? Alec?"

Silence met him; the house was eerily still. He spoke again, louder. "I just came to ask what happened with the Council meeting. I wanted to know what's going on. Alec? Maryse?"

"They're not here." The startlingly familiar voice made Jace freeze in place. "No one's here. Just me." It wasn't possible. It couldn't be her. He’d seen her body just minutes after she’d died. He'd been at her _funeral._

"You can hear me, can't you?" The voice was a mixture of hope and wonder, though the whole tone was melancholy. Jace spun around, trying to find the source. This was some cruel trick; it had to be. Something Sebastian had planted in the house.

"Who's there?" he demanded, though his shaky voice wasn't the epitome of intimidating.

"Who do you think, idiot?" The voice seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere, ringing in his ears in the otherwise silent room. Every time Jace jerked his head around, the sound seemed to come from the opposite direction. It sounded _just_ like her—

"Who are you?" he reiterated. "Come out!" Jace's hand fumbled at him weapons belt, pulling out a seraph blade. Before he could name it, though, the voice came again, this time sounding like it was originating from mere centimeters from the back of his neck.

"Oh, put that away, will you? It's not like it'll do any good on me. I'm already dead."

Jace leapt forward and turned back around to see—

No. It was _impossible._ These things didn't happen in real life. Even in the Shadow World, the ability to see them was the stuff of legends. It was so rare, most people believed it to be myth. But this was no legend. How could he deny the sight right before his eyes?

The familiar figure stood before him, the slightest of smiles curling her lips. Her skin was pale, paler than she'd ever been in life, paler even than when he'd found her after she'd bled out in an alley. The same long raven black hair fell past her shoulders and down her back. Her eyes were not as he remembered; they'd lost their beautiful brown color and were now merely a dark grey, devoid of emotion—and of life. Her tall frame was still clad in the same gear she'd died in. Even the cuts and tears remained, though the skin beneath seemed intact and there was no blood in sight. Even now, she was beautiful. Even now, she looked like the fierce warrior that he'd trained with and fought with and trusted his life to ever since he'd moved to the Institute. Even now, she was still his sister, and the sight of her, standing before him, clear as day—save for the slight transparency and faint glow to her skin—tugged at his heartstrings. He gasped, dropping his seraph blade to the ground as he backed up until his shoulders hit the entryway wall. When he spoke her name, his voice was barely even audible, hoarse with unshed tears and screams withheld.

"Isabelle?"

 

“Clary? Is that you?” Clary cringed as she closed the door behind her and moved through the small front hallway of Amatis’s house. Jocelyn came out of the kitchen, a steaming mug in her hands. “Where have you been?”

“The council meeting,” Clary tried, shrugging the question off and making her way past her mother on her way into the kitchen. “You know that. Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“Well, I was. Until—“

“I’m afraid I’m responsible for the sleep deprivation here,” an unexpected voice explained for Jocelyn. Clary froze in the doorway of the kitchen. The woman who had spoken stood up from where she’d been sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of tea on the table in front of her. How had she gotten here so fast? More importantly, _why_?

“Clary,” Jocelyn said. “I want you to meet Tessa Gray.”

Clary had recovered her composure in a split second so short she doubted either of the women in the room had noticed. She smiled icily at Tessa, being sure her mother wouldn’t see the silent warning in the expression. “We’ve met actually.”

Jocelyn looked back and forth between the two of them in surprise. “When?”

Tessa smiled, never taking her eyes off Clary as she spoke. “Earlier today. Clarissa and her friend Jace came to see the Herondale manor, where I happen to be staying for the time being.”

Jocelyn turned to Clary, a chastising note in her voice. “You went outside the wards? I thought you were at the council meeting.”

“Something happened and Maryse made us leave. And Jace wanted to see his family’s place. It’s not like it was a big deal.” Clary’s irritability was growing by the second. And she still hadn’t figured out what Tessa was doing there. “We didn’t stay long. Actually, we left before you, Tessa. How did you get here so fast?”

“There are quite a few short cuts and secret roads all around Idris, Clarissa. You just have to know where to look. Don’t be surprised if I know them better. I’ve had years more experience here than you, I’m sure.” Tessa’s smile never faded, but Clary still wondered how her mother didn’t notice the dagger glares being exchanged and the words spoken that reeked of subtext.

A moment later, she began to wonder how much of the conversation her mother had actually understood. Tessa’s eyes snapped from Clary to look at Jocelyn over Clary’s shoulder. “Jocelyn? Are you alright?”

Clary spun around to see he mother, eyes closed as she leaned heavily against the doorframe. Her hand was on her stomach, a grimace of pain marring her face.

“Mom?” Clary asked, surprised to find a real pitch of concern in her voice.

Jocelyn waved a hand at them half-heartedly and made her way to one of the chairs at the table sluggishly. “I’m alright.”

“You most certainly are not. Clary was right, Jocelyn. You’re ill. Have you been to a doctor?”

“I’m fine,” Jocelyn insisted. “I’m just tired.”

Tessa shook her head, clearly not ready to let this go. Clary unconsciously reached for the bracelet on her wrist, wishing Jonathan could be here, and if only to put her mind at ease. “This isn’t just exhaustion, Jocelyn. Tell me what’s going on.”

Jocelyn slumped back in the chair, a sheen of sweat breaking out on her face. “I don’t know. I have no idea what’s wrong.”

Tessa bit her lip in hesitation, rubbing her hands on her jeans nervously. After a quick glance back at Clary, she huffed out a breath and held out her hand. “Give me your ring,” she ordered, her voice soft by still adamant.

Jocelyn held her hands closer to her chest, knitting them tightly together. “What?”

“Your engagement ring. Hand it to me.” Tessa looked at it expectantly, waiting. When Jocelyn didn’t move, she relented. “I’ll give it right back. I promise.”

Reluctantly, Clary’s mother pulled the simple ring off her left hand and, after pausing in indecision once more, she finally laid it in Tessa’s outstretched palm. Tessa smiled graciously, closing her fingers around the band. She stood up, backing away from both Clary and her mother, looking at them with an uneasy smile. “Something is about to happen and it’s going to be quite… strange. But I need you both to stay calm. Alright?”

Curious but weary, both Clary and her mother nodded. Tessa looked back and forth between the two of them anxiously. Finally, she stilled her whole body, almost unnaturally, and closed her eyes. In anticipations, clary and her mother were holding their breaths. Taking a deep breath of her own, Tessa scrunched her face up in concentration, her eyebrows knitting together, and Clary watched in an amazed horror as the girl before her _changed_. Her brown, naturally stair hair warmed to the color of a dull flame, curling and frizzing as it did. Her skin grew pale, dotted by freckles on her nose and cheeks. She watched as the tall girl shrank a few inches, the fingers on the hands that were holding the rung elongating to nimble artists’ hands. Within seconds, the girl that had stood in front of her was gone—replaced by an apparent clone of her mother.

Jocelyn had paled, save for the feverish red that painted her cheeks. Clary herself could only gasp, unable to fully understand what she had just witnessed. Tessa—in the guise of Clary’s mother—opened her eyes, glancing apprehensively at Clary and Jocelyn.

“What,” Jocelyn began slowly, “the _Hell_ was that? I thought you were a warlock!”

“I am,” Tessa replied in Jocelyn’s voice. “Well, sort of. It’s really a long story, one you can hear another time. This is just—.” Tessa cut herself off with a hiss, her hand flying to her stomach as Jocelyn’s had only a moment before. Her face creased in pain and then smoothed almost instantly as the wave of discomfort passed and a realization seemed to dawn on her. “Oh, Jocelyn… You know exactly what’s happening, don’t you?” Tessa’s eyes stared at their twins, pityingly.

“No,” Jocelyn denied quickly. “I don’t—“

She stopped and watched in awe as Tessa let go of her imitation, quickly transforming herself back into the girl Clary had met earlier at the Herondale manor house. Tessa closed her eyes, shaking her head as if to shake away the remaining pieces of Jocelyn’s psyche she’d just accessed.

“Jocelyn,” Tessa continued, finally back in her own mind. She handed Clary’s mother back her ring as she spoke, softly and carefully. “You know what that was. You’ve been through this twice before. You must have recognized—“

“I don’t know anything!” Jocelyn insisted vehemently.

“Mom, what’s she talking about?” Clary demanded, her head spinning.

“Nothing! I’m just _sick_!”

“Hardly,” Tessa argued, turning to Clary. “I hope you’re ready to be a big sister, Clarissa.”

The world stopped. That’s the only way Clary could have thought to describe what that moment felt like. It felt like her eyes were going to escape from their sockets when she turned to gape at her mother. “You’re pregnant?” _Oh, my brother is going to love this, isn’t he?_ she thought snidely, rolling her eyes internally.

“No. I can’t be.” Jocelyn’s voice was hoarse and Clary could see the shining tears in her eyes. The thought of having another child actually painedher _that_ much, Clary thought.

“You must have recognized the symptoms, Jocelyn.” Tessa pushed.

“I know they’re similar, Tessa, but—“

“Why aren’t you relieved? Happy, even?”

“Because I don’t want to bring another child into this!” Jocelyn lamented with a sob. “Because Jonathan will find out and find a way to use it against me. There are a thousand reasons.”

“But it all boils down to one, right?” Clary asked stonily. “You don’t want another screw-up.”

“What? No, Clary—.” Jocelyn rushed to placate her, but Clary wouldn’t let her finish. She could actually understand it now—the hatred Jonathan felt for their mother. It made perfect sense to her in that moment. It wasn’t just the demon kid she never wanted—it was both of them.

“But you’re right, Mom. Valentine poisoned your first born with demon blood, and look how _he_ turned out. And then, even though you thought you’d gotten away from him when you had me, he still managed to wreck your life even more by making me the angel kid from Hell.”

“Clarissa—,” Tessa admonished softly, but Clary didn’t hear.

“Angel knows, given your track record, Mom, dear old Dad will come back from beyond the grave just to bring some new creature of mass destruction into your life.”

“Clary,” Jocelyn begged almost inaudibly. “Enough.” Tears were flowing down her face in rivulets. Clary felt a pang of guilt in her chest—what was she doing? None of that was her mother’s fault. She should explain everything to her mother, to Tessa. Explain that it was the demon inside her talking, not her—

A sharp pain laced through her head, making her bend over in pain, crying out.

“Clary?” Jocelyn’s worried voice came about two octaves than it had been a moment ago. And the sound of it set Clary’s teeth on edge. Why should this woman care? Why should she tell her anything? Who was to say that, after hearing that her daughter had the same demon’s heart that her son did, she wouldn’t cast Clary away and hate her just the same as she had done to Jonathan?

Clary picked up her head and scowled at Jocelyn. “I’m fine. Don’t concern yourself, mother. Wouldn’t want to put too much stress on the _baby_ , would we?” She spat out the word as a curse. She winced again as another sharp pain shot through her head and all her emotions—anger, guilt, fear—began to mix together, muddling and confusing her mind. “I need some air,” she explained shortly and turned to leave the room before anyone could object. She had to get away, to find Jonathan somehow and tell him what was happening. He’d know what to do.

Clary could hear her mother’s protests and promptly ignored them as she reached the door, pulled it open—

And yelped in surprise. On the other side of the door, looking slightly embarrassed with his hand in the air—probably having been about to knock on the door—was the last person Clary had ever expected to see here in Alicante. Well, next to the last person.

Boy, she had a feeling things were about to get 500 times more interesting. She glared at the visitor in bewilderment. “ _Simon?_ ”

 

Jordan stood beside Maia anxiously, the Praetor—or ex-Praetor, as they claimed—wolves standing on the opposite side of the kitchen island.

“Where’s the rest of your pack?” Xavier asked, surveying the room casually.

“Not here,” Jordan answered immediately, his face impassive.

Xavier glanced up at him and sighed. “Look, Jordan, I’m not here to hurt them. Or you. I’m here to join you.”

“So you said. But you had a choice earlier. You stayed there, at the Praetor House. Am I supposed to believe that you changed your mind so fast out of the goodness of your heart?”

“I understand if you don’t trust me. I didn’t come with you earlier because… Well I didn’t believe you. The Praetor was always supposed to be about protecting the innocent. But Scott’s willing to destroy the whole world for his own vendetta. I stayed after I knew the truth because I wanted to get as much as much help for the Shadowhunters as I could.”

“You said you knew Sebastian’s plan?”

“At least part of it,” Xavier confirmed. “And I know how he’s talking the Downworlders into it. How he’s getting good people to join him.”

“And how’s that?” Maia piped in. “Blackmail?”

“No. at least, not for the wolves. He claims he has a cure. A cure for lycanthropy. He says he found it in a demon realm and that he’s willing to give it to us.”

“No,” Jordan said, shaking his head. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would he take _away_ their power? They aren’t any help as mundanes.”

“We wouldn’t be mundanes for long. He wanted to turn us into dark Nephilim, make us strong enough to fight the Shadowhunters and win.”

“That can’t be _it_ though. I mean, he’s targeting all the Downworlders in New York specifically. Why here?”

“He wants to cause chaos. I overheard Praetor Scott telling Reilly after you left. He wants to flood New York with Downworlders, create chaos with rogue ones. Think about it—word gets out that there’s a magic cure for being a werewolf and you can only find it here, in the city? Every wolf with half a brain will come running. They won’t care what they have to do—they want that cure. He’s got something planned for the vampires, too. God only knows about the other.”

“That many Downworlders in the city at once? That’s Armageddon waiting to happen. Even if the Shadowhunters came back, it would be an all-out war. New York would become a battleground and millions of innocents could be caught in the crossfire.”

“But you know Luke, the Council representative. If you could talk to him, get the Shadowhunters over here to find Sebastian before it all starts—.”

“They’ve been looking for him for months. And Scott would die before betraying his cause; Sebastian knows that. Hell, even if the Shadowhunters wanted to help, they couldn’t. They’re all locked up tight in Idris, hiding. New York is vulnerable and Sebastian knows it. But… Why is he doing it?”

Mason squinted as him, confused. “I don’t follow. What do you mean?”

“ _Why_ is he creating chaos? And why here?”

“He knows it’ll affect Jace and the Institute the most,” Maia offered. “Maybe even scare them.”

“That’s not a good enough reason. Everything he does is deliberate. It’s all part of his master plan. To go through all the trouble just to upset the others…. It hardly makes sense.” Jordan ran his fingers through his hair and glanced down at the island countertop, deep in thought. To his surprised, the doorbell rang.

“And that’ll be the pizza,” Maia announced happily. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a worn leather billfold—a startlingly familiar one. Jordan patted his back pocket where he’d put his wallet earlier, but it was empty.

“Hey!” he complained. “When did you—?”

“You really should be more observant, you know,” Maia replied innocently, smirking at him. “I mean, hey, I’m a great kisser and all, but really?” She opened the billfold and pulled out a twenty. “I’ll pay you back. Promise.” She panted a quick peck on Jordan’s cheek and slipped his wallet back into his pocket before moving to answer the incessant buzzing at the door. Jordan gaped at her in shock.

Xavier laughed and clapped a hand on Jordan’s shoulder. “Dude, I never would have pegged you as one to be so _whipped_.”

Jordan made a sound of indignation, shrugging off the hand. “I am not. Seriously, though,” he added, now addressing Maia, who had already closed the door and was carrying three pizza boxes into the kitchen. “How’d you do that? I didn’t even notice it was gone.”

Maia dropped the pizza down on the table and smiled up at him. “You weren’t supposed to. Cale!” she continued, calling out to the boys in the other room. “Hayden, Michael! It’s alright! You guys can come out now! There’s pizza!”

Nothing happened. Maia sighed and pointed over her shoulder. “You told them not to come out unless _you_ gave the all clear. At least you know they’re smart. Go grab them, will you? Before these savages eat it all.” Maia was right, of course—the other wolves had fallen on the pizza ravenously, already having finished one full one and eaten through half of a second. Jordan nodded and moved past Maia toward the door of Simon’s bedroom. He knocked on the wood softly.

“Guys?” he said. “It’s cool. You can come out now.” After a second of waiting, the door opened hesitantly, Hayden sticking his head out nervously.

“Jordan?” he asked, leaning to the side to look down the hall past him.

“It’s alright. You’re safe. Though you guys might want to hurry if you’re going to save your lunch. Maia bought pizza. Well, she ordered. I bought.”

A grin creeped across Hayden’s face. One more nervous glance around and he, followed by Cale and Michael, ran toward the kitchen at lightning speed. Jordan chuckled and made his way back to the kitchen after them. He paused behind Maia to put his hands around her waist, pulling her against him and whispering so that only she could hear him. “So, little thief,” he teased. “Where’d you learn to pick pockets?”

Maia giggled softly, turning around in his arms. “You forget—I was raised in New Jersey _and_ ran away from home to live in New York City at age fifteen. Of course I know how to pick a pocket. The key,” she continued, planting a kiss on his lips and bringing one hand up to stroke his face softly, “is distraction.” Her lips lingered on his for a moment longer before pulling back and smiling triumphantly. He felt his back pocket—she’d returned the walled without him noticing. Not only that, in the hand that had been by her side—or so he’d thought—Maia held Jordan’s small pocket knife. He let out an awed laugh.

“Distraction, huh?” he asked, the smiled never fading as he took his knife back from Maia. She nodded, smiling back proudly. Suddenly, something clicked in Jordan’s mind. _Now_ things were making sense. How could they not have seen it before? “Distraction…” he muttered to himself.

His face must have betrayed his sense of unease, because Maia had taken a step back, standing with the rest of Jordan’s pack as they stared at their alpha apprehensively.

“Jordan?” Xavier spoke cautiously. “What’s wrong?”

Jordan looked not at Xavier or the rest of his pack when he answered, but directly at Maia. “I know what Sebastian’s doing.”

 

Sebastian stepped surefootedly through the portal he’d drawn. The new room that surrounded him—a first-class kitchen—made him scoff. Bottles of various brands of alcohol were strewn across the floor haphazardly. None of it was the cheap stuff, either. Chairs were turned over It looked like a mundane rock band had stayed here a month, and not the one vampire girl he’d come to meet.

A child-like voice drew his attention to the doorway of the kitchen, where his gaze fell on Maureen. She was wearing a dress that looked like it had been slept in multiple nights in a row; her makeup looked the same way, mascara streaking down her face and smudged around the rims of her eyes.  “I was wondering when I’d hear from you again,” she said tiredly.

“You know I was busy with all the destroying the world preparations I’ve been making. What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing to concern yourself with,” she remarked irritably, brushing her way past him on her way to the small refrigerator on the opposite side of the room. “I took care of Raphael for you. The clan was desperate for a leader and they didn’t even second guess me taking control. That’s the only reason you came back, isn’t it? Checking to make sure the stupid little girl didn’t screw up your plans?” From the refrigerator door, Maureen pulled out a glass bottle filled with amber liquid.

“That’s only partly why I came,” he insisted in a consoling voice, stepping across the room to snatch the beer bottle from her. “Tell me what this is about.”

“Why do you care?” Maureen sneered at him, trudging over to plop down on one of the upright chairs at the kitchen table. “What does anyone care? You all leave eventually, anywaay. You, Simon—”

“Simon who?” Sebastian said, leaning against the table beside her. “What are you talking about?”

“Who do you think? I called him here. I told him I’d help him, keep him safe. But he wouldn’t stay with me. He chose Clary over me. Just like you did. Don’t even try to deny it,” she snapped, cutting off Sebastian’s brief attempt at defending himself. “I know you love her. So does Simon. He has for years, you know. But she didn’t love him back. She doesn’t love you either. She _hates_ you. I loved Simon, went to all his shows and supported him. I _killed_ people for you. And yet you’re both still hung up on this one girl that will never love you back—”

“Shut up,” Sebastian growled viciously, pushing himself off the table. “You don’t know anything about Clary. She loves me as she always should have.”

“You’re her _brother_. You shouldn’t even want to be with her. She wouldn’t want to be with you if you hadn’t basically brainwashed her.”

“I said shut up!” He knew Maureen was only saying these things because she was upset and drunk, but Sebastian didn’t care. He didn’t even know why he wasted his time with the little brat in the first place. Rage was racing through his veins. “What you don’t know about love could fill a thousand libraries.”

“I guess we’re perfect for each other then, because the same could be said for you.” Her voice was melancholy as she spoke. She stood up from the table, her limbs seeming to carry and extra weight with them, and made her way back to the counter by the refrigerator where she picked up the abandoned glass bottle from earlier and popped the top.

Sebastian acted without thinking, as was often true in his case. In a split second, he was right in front of Maureen, her glass bottle in his hand and his face only inches from hers. “You really do need to learn how to keep your mouth shut when you’re told.” Maureen’s eyes were hazy as they looked into his own; she was too dazed to be afraid, even as he slammed the bottle against the edge of the counter, shattering it. A large shard had remained on the countertop, and Sebastian took it into his hand. “Unfortunately,” he continued, “I don’t have time to play teacher right now, nor any time in the future.”

Maureen must have known what he was doing, but she didn’t fight back or shake at all. She really didn’t care whether she lived or died. She’d made the mistake of falling for first Simon, and then him. Didn’t she know? To love is to destroy.

He brought up the hand grasping the glass shard and, in one swift movement, dragged it across Maureen’s throat. He watched as blood spilled down onto the collar of her white lace dress, staining it bright crimson. Her eyes—which had never left his—slipped closed and her knees collapsed beneath her. She wasn’t dead, he knew. It took more than a slit throat to kill a vampire. It would, however, disorient her long enough for him to do what he had planned next.

Effortlessly, Sebastian picked up the young girl’s thin frame, one hand supporting her behind her shoulders and the other under her knees, and carried her over to the French doors that led out onto the Penthouse suite’s balcony. As soon as the sunlight came in contact with Maureen’s skin, she began groaning in pain. The light was causing blisters to form, her skin seeming to burn from the inside out.

Opening the balcony doors, Sebastian maneuvered through them and outside, stepping directly over to the railing. Below, the people of New York passed by, oblivious to the happenings behind the door of the Gramercy Park Hotel’s Penthouse suite. In his arms, Maureen’s skin blistered faster, getting hotter to the touch. Though she was still disoriented, Maureen hissed as her skin became scorched. Even then, she didn’t squirm or fight. She was ready to die.

Sebastian planted a chaste kiss on Maureen’s forehead, the temperature burning his own skin. He’d have to get rid of her sooner rather than later to avoid secondary injury to himself. “ _Vale_ , pet,” he whispered into her ear. He lingered only a moment longer before he pushed her body forward and over the edge of the railing.

Screaming ensued. He wasn’t sure if it was a bystander, or if Maureen had decided moments too late that she really did want to live her immortal life. It didn’t matter. In the mid-day sunlight, Maureen’ wouldn’t last long enough to hit the ground below as much more than ashes, scattering in the wind. Perhaps people would try to make sense of it as some strange accident. Perhaps they would have an investigation into her homicide. One thing was for sure, though. They would never find Maureen Brown’s body, nor the man who had entered and left her room unseen by any security cameras or officers on duty.

Brushing off his hands, Sebastian stepped back inside the Penthouse one more time, grabbed two glass bottles out of the refrigerator, and then made his way back through the portal that had brought him there, sealing it behind him.

 

Simon stared back at Clary awkwardly, shifting back and forth on his feet.

“How the Hell did you get to Alicante?” Clary demanded.

“It’s a long story,” he replied evasively, glancing over her shoulder. “Is Jace here? Or Alec?”

“Jace went to go find the others after the council meeting. Why?” Clary’s suspicions were at an all-time high, as was her irritability. Something about Simon’s sudden appearance made her antsy, and she was going to get answers out of him whether he was willing to give them without a fight or not.

“I just need to talk to him is all, Clary. Like I said, it’s complicated.”

“Like the rest of my life? What do you want with Jace? And why are you here?”

“I needed to get out of New York,” Simon remarked sarcastically. “I thought that I’d come see the city when it’s winter and snowing and, oh yeah, I’m not locked behind bars for a crime I didn’t commit.”

“Just stop,” Clary snapped. “I’ve had enough people lying to me today. Tell me what you’re doing here. And I swear it had better be the truth, or so help me—”

“I’m trying to get on the council,” Simon interrupted suddenly. Clary took a step back in surprise. Whatever she might have been expecting, even in her wildest imagination, it had not been that.

“The council?” she repeated incredulously, shaking her head. “I know the vampire seat is open but…”

“But nothing. I probably know more about Shadowhunters than any other vampire. I’ve fought alongside Shadowhunters in battle. I’m more qualified than anyone else, probably. Especially with current council members backing me.”

“Current members?” Simon’s earlier words played over in her mind. “Jace and Alec are trying to get you on the council,” she realized.

“Well, Alec more than Jace, really. Jace isn’t technically old enough to be on the council.”

“You’re only seventeen,” Clary pointed out. “You aren’t old enough, either.”

“According to Alec, that doesn’t matter. I mean, it makes sense. I’m immortal. Age is irrelevant.”

“Why would Alec be helping you with this?” It didn’t make sense to Clary. Simon had never expressed any real interest in Shadowhunter affairs. Why was he suddenly vying for the vampire council seat?

A melancholy smile played on Simon’s lips. “It was something Isabelle suggested not that long ago. She knew what I wanted for my family, that I needed to get out of the city and not come back any time soon. So she told me about the council position. It seemed so ridiculous at the time. Isabelle was in New York, after all, and she wasn’t coming to Idris any time soon. I didn’t want to leave her behind, so I just kind of forgot about it. But then, after she died…” His voice grew thin, and it took three attempts to clear his throat before he could continue. “There was nothing left for me in New York. I thought I’d be at my most useful here.”

She knew he hadn’t meant the words as an insult, but they still stung. _She_ lived in New York. That was their world. How dare he? God, she hated admitting how right her brother was when he told her not to trust anyone but her. No one cared about her like he did. They didn’t understand. They were selfish. Only Jonathan cared for her as much as he cared for himself. 

Clary shook with anger as she responded, words dripping venomously from her lips. “Well that was a cheap shot. Guess that’s what I get for trusting Downworlders, though, right? Especially ones who don’t even trust their own kind. Then again, you don’t have an ‘own kind’, do you? The only Daylighter in existence. Enjoy spending eternity alone.”

She had only a moment to see his hurt reaction, to savor it before her head, just as it had earlier, exploded in a moment of pain. Only this time, the moment rolled over into several moments, which then rolled over to what seemed like hours. Clary only barely registered the pain on her knees as she fell to the floor of the entry way; the arms that reached out and held her; the familiar, soothing voices that called her name, asking if she was alright. As the pain faded, Clary saw against her closed eyelids a design. It was the rune she’d seen before, the night after she’d killed Isabelle…

“Clary?” It was Jocelyn’s voice; the concern in it was nearly palpable.

“I’m okay,” she mumbled, hands shielding her eyes from the little light around her. Guilt rushed through her like a dam had broken in her conscience. How could she have said such things to Simon, to her mother? “Jace,” she breathed, the sound of her own voice like knives in her ears. “He’s at the Lightwoods’s house. I can take you—”

“I’ll take him.” The new voice belonged to Tessa. The rune still floated across Clary’s vision, blinding her. She wanted to open her eyes, make it disappear, but she did not want to outside light to agitate her migraine any more than it already did. And so she felt and heard, rather than saw, as Tessa shifted past her and through the front door, presumably joining Simon. “You should rest Clarissa. I’ve been to the Inquisitor’s house before. I know the way. You and your mother should stay here and rest. I’ll see you soon, Jocelyn,” she continued, addressing Clary’s mother. Her voice did not come again, and Clary assumed that she had left.

Simon’s voice, however, was still with her. “Don’t worry,” he told Clary, and she could tell that he was leaning close to speak. “I know you didn’t mean what you said. You’re going through a rough time. We all are. I’m going to help you. I promise.”

And, with that, Simon left to follow Tessa, and Clary, exhausted and aching, fell asleep in her mother’s protective arms.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **insert appropriate American Horror Story "surprise bitch" gif here**  
> SURPRISE EVERYONE! Sorry. Life kind of got in the way for the longest time, but I decided to continue this fan fiction anyway! The Mortal Instruments may be over, but this fan fiction is just beginning! Thank you for sticking with me! Also, I've been taking a creative writing class and will be going through and revising this story soon. When the full book is finally finished and available, you'll be surprised what has stayed and what has changed!


	18. Author's Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not an official update!

Hi everyone! Ashleigh here. No, sorry, this isn't a real "update." I know it's been so long since I updated this, but I really miss this story, so I thought I'd put this up here to ask you guys your opinion. I don't know if anyone's read this in a while, but I'm wondering if you guys would like me to try to continue or do you not care either way or have you moved on to oher fics/series? Let me know what you guys think. I'll need at least five of you saying you want this to continue before I can do it. I'm working on a lot of projects now that I didn't have before, so I need to know if you guys really want this before I continue. Let me know. :)


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